She Has My Genes. The Kid Is Doomed.

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I was watching my daughter in gymnastics the other night tumble, leap and cartwheel her way across the mat.  She points her toes, extends her fingertips and holds her head high. When she does a handstand, finds a balance point or lands her round-off, sunbeams shine from her eyes.

The group of girls stretch and warm up. The kid is doing great.  They move to the trampoline. The kid is having a blast.  They move to tumbling. The kid is unstoppable. They move to the rope.

I can't climb a rope. I remember (rather vividly), gripping the rope, pulling with all my might and my body not even moving an inch. Didn't happen then, never will.

She has my genes. The kid is doomed.