One Big Happy (5/30/10)

Two months is a long time to be out of school, so it’s not surprising that kids fill their summers with casual pickup games of basketball, soccer, and (in Chicago, at least) 16-inch softball. When it comes time to choose teams, somebody always gets picked last. It’s unavoidable. But what blows my mind are the grudges that people harbor, well into adulthood, at the indignity of being picked last. No one wants to admit that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t all that good at sports. I got picked last a few times, but I didn’t pout. If anything, it gave me extra motivation to prove my friends wrong. On the flip side, the kids who got picked first acted like they were destined for stardom. I don’t think any of my childhood friends gave an acceptance speech upon being picked first, but some of them probably came close.

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