Marcy and I are still trying to wrap our heads around the fact our kids are good at sports.

We aren’t slugs, exactly. We hike and play tennis, but I’m not what you’d call “coordinated.” I haven’t played on a team since I played football in 4th grade. Heck, we don’t even get ESPN.

O, though, is a pretty good soccer player, and A never played a sport she didn’t like.

She’s a basketball player first, but she’s tried soccer and volleyball, and this spring, she’s playing softball. Considering that she’d never played the game until a few weeks ago, she pretty good.

She takes it seriously, listens to her coach and plays hard. Mostly, though, she has fun. Sometimes,  when she’s playing, she just can’t help smiling.

Last night, she played a 7:30 game, but it started late. Marcy took her while I stayed home to put O to bed. It was almost 10 before they got home.

“Dad!” she said as soon as she walked in. “I got a girl out, and I got a hit! I got on base!”

That’s great, I said. Who won?

“I think we did!”

It really didn’t matter she won or lost. What mattered to her was that she played the game.