Blood may be thicker than water, but baseball beats them both.
I learned this after explaining to my two boys that they were half-Lithuanian on their father’s side, and half-Yankee, meaning their other set of parents came from an old New England family.
My younger son looked worried. "But we’re still a hundred percent Red Sox, right, Mom?"
My fellow teacher called for help—she needed someone who knew about animals. As a science teacher, I filled the bill. "Oh," she added, "bring a net."
Expecting to find some kind of beast as I entered her classroom, I was greeted instead by the sight of excited kids watching a hummingbird fly around. Rather than use the net, I suggested they hang red paper by an open door. The bird would be drawn to it, I explained, and eventually fly out.
Later, the teacher called back. The trick worked. "Now," she said, "we have two hummingbirds flying around the room."
After registering for his high school classes, my son burst into the house, filled with excitement. "Dad," he announced in one breath, "I got all the classes I wanted. But I have to have my school supplies by tomorrow. I need a protractor and a compass for geometry, a dictionary for English, a dissecting kit for biology—and a car for driver’s ed."
It was the first day of basketball practice at Wingate high school in Brooklyn, N.Y. Coach Jack Kaminer handed a ball to each player.
"Fellas," he said, "I want you to practice shooting from the spots you might expect to be in during the game."
The No. 12 sub immediately sat down at the end of the bench and began launching the ball toward the basket.