Fatherhood.
My youngest is turning 12 in about 6 weeks. She has decided she wants to take up gymnastics. I have mixed feelings about this.
We have known she likely has natural ability as a gymnast almost since the day she was born. She is small, wiry, strong and high energy. She earned the nickname "rigorbaby" long before she was even mobile because when you would place her belly on your palm, rather than draping over your hand like a wet blanket, she would go stiff as a board and balance on your palm. I have two sisters who have competed in gymnastics, both at the state level in Texas and one as a member of the gymnastics team at BYU. My family knows a little about gymnastics and everyone has commented on my daughter's apparent natural ability.
On the other hand, I have two sisters who have competed in gymnastics, both at the state level in Texas and one as a member of the gymnastics team at BYU. I also dated a gymnast for a little over a year. All three are busted and broken from their days as a gymnast. I called my sister who competed for BYU—the one who would come home from workout during high school in tears because she was in so much pain, the one who spent hours with her knees packed in ice, the one who had multiple surgeries during her college career to repair her busted this, and her blown that and her ruptured the other. I asked her what she thought now that she is a 30-something mother of four. "You know, looking back now I still have to say, 'Yep. It was worth it.'"
Great. I'll admit, I loved watching my sisters compete. I will love watching my daughter compete if she decides to take it that far, but my stomach will drop and my heart skip a beat every time she falls.