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Here we go again...
Jan. 29th, 2010 02:31 pmRemember the baseball fiasco? Well, it's time to register for the next season and Danny says he wants to play baseball. This puts me in a very uncomfortable position: do I go ahead and register, pretend nothing happened and hope for the best? Or do I send the letter I've been sitting on for seven months (with edits now that time and the initial emotional turmoil have passed) and hope it doesn't prejudice the league against us? Or do I talk him into some other activity?
I spent a couple of hours yesterday rereading and revising the Letter. If I confine my complaints to the frustration, confusion and annoyance I had to deal with just to get him assigned to a team, the letter is already a page and a half long. If I want to also talk about all the problems we had with the coach -- which I'm loath to leave out because as far as I'm concerned that was the most distressing aspect of the entire season -- it's another full page.
It's worth mentioning that I deleted about four pages of vitriolic rage to end up with these three pages of calm, rational concern.
The trouble is that when I think about sending it, my brain skips ahead to wonder what comes next. Will the league president ask the coach for his point of view? I would, if I were the league president. Will we be red-flagged as troublemakers? Might someone act in retribution, making this season even worse than the one before? Do I really want to put myself in an adversarial position at the outset?
And perhaps most important of all, I'm not sure what the point would be -- by which I mean there's no definite goal or demand that I can even think of stating. So why bother, really?
Unless he really wants to play baseball, because with his father's work schedule, I'm going to be the one taking him to practices and games, and dealing with the league and the coach. Again.
Argh.
I spent a couple of hours yesterday rereading and revising the Letter. If I confine my complaints to the frustration, confusion and annoyance I had to deal with just to get him assigned to a team, the letter is already a page and a half long. If I want to also talk about all the problems we had with the coach -- which I'm loath to leave out because as far as I'm concerned that was the most distressing aspect of the entire season -- it's another full page.
It's worth mentioning that I deleted about four pages of vitriolic rage to end up with these three pages of calm, rational concern.
The trouble is that when I think about sending it, my brain skips ahead to wonder what comes next. Will the league president ask the coach for his point of view? I would, if I were the league president. Will we be red-flagged as troublemakers? Might someone act in retribution, making this season even worse than the one before? Do I really want to put myself in an adversarial position at the outset?
And perhaps most important of all, I'm not sure what the point would be -- by which I mean there's no definite goal or demand that I can even think of stating. So why bother, really?
Unless he really wants to play baseball, because with his father's work schedule, I'm going to be the one taking him to practices and games, and dealing with the league and the coach. Again.
Argh.
