Yesterday, Avery and I participated in a one-mile fun run. (It was fun, though not quite as fun as this.)
She was a champ and ran (not jogged) almost the entire one-mile course. (What she did not run, she walked, and what she did not walk, she sat on the curb and played with sticks and bugs...we opted for the scenic route.)
The end of the race was the real puzzler. Just as we reached the finish line, Avery said to me, "I don't want all of these people clapping for me" and walked around the inflatable arch that marked the finish line instead of through it. At that moment, I wondered if perhaps I had taken the wrong child home from the hospital. Have I taught her nothing? Isn't the purpose of doing anything the glory? Whether in the form of applause, a medal, a mention in the paper...isn't some sort of tangible validation for your effort the reason for participating? Didn't the satisfaction of accomplishment or knowing that it was a job well done go the way of personal responsibility and the pet rock?
This morning, as Canetto was getting ready for work, he casually mentioned to me that he needed to get to work early as there was an awards ceremony and that he was receiving an award. He must have known about this for weeks, but just told me in passing as he was headed out the door.
...I guess I took the right child home from the hospital.