What could possible induce me to leave my son’s state finals soccer game early, jump in a car and dodge speed traps across half the state of Texas? The ballet, that’s what.
It’s true. With seven or so minutes left to play (will someone please explain to me how they keep time in soccer?), I packed up my camera bag and folding chair and attempted to back slowly away from the game without attracting the attention of the “good parents.”
No luck. As I was literally slinking away, the coach tore his attention away from the game to shout at me, asking if my son had a ride home. Oh, the shame. (Bubba’s grandparents made the road trip to Beaumont and gave him a lift home.)
I had consulted the Garmin, Google maps, and every parent at breakfast before setting my departure time at exactly 9am. By my calculations that would have me screaming into the driveway in time to scoop up my daughter, and head to the Long Center for the annual Father Daughter Trip to See the Austin Ballet Production of the Nutcracker.
I stopped only once during the 250 mile stretch between Beaumont and Austin. If Nascar Pit Crews were required to pump regular, pee and get a bag of pretzels, that was how they would pump regular, pee and get a bag of pretzels.
I arrived in Austin with twenty minutes to spare. Which immediately made me regret leaving the game early. This was not helped when my son texted my that he “really, really, really, really” wished that I had been there for the awards ceremony (his team finished 4th in the State).
This guilt was assuaged when I saw my girl in her pretty dress, so excited and ready to ride in my muddy sled to the Nutcracker.
I could give a damn about the performance, for the most part. And, as I’ve confessed before, I have some worries that our tradition is a bit too gender stereotyped. But there is no resisting the pure fun we have together; finding our secret balcony for a pre-show snack, ringing up the souvenir nutcracker (the Rat King this year), and peeking at the orchestra before settling into our seats.
Well worth the speeding ticket risks and compromised spectating. It’s just what we do, right dads?
