Like mother, like son

When I was in school and was inflicted with PE, I pretty much hated every minute of it.  I am not and have never been what someone would call athletic.  I'm not competitive and I don't like to hurt my body.  These are two key things that make a person like me unsuccessful at PE.  Oh, and also, I'm uncoordinated.

I was, however, smart enough to figure out strategies.  Survival strategies.  For example, when we played dodge ball (which, let's face it, is a barbaric activity), I had a strategy and it was called Get The Ball to Tommy.

Tommy Morrow was one of the more athletic boys in my class.  He was fairly tall and really good at catching any ball thrown his way.

When we played dodge ball, you were out if someone else caught your ball.  I would call across the net to Tommy to get his attention, then I would lob a ball at him.  He'd catch it and I'd be out.  It was a beautiful friendship.  Also, to my advantage, Tommy didn't get out himself.  (If the person that caught your ball got out, you had to go back in.)

I didn't want to go back in.

Ever.

So if I got the ball to Tommy, I was just fine.

Now, compare this to Mark.

At his school, they have "flex" period.  As long as you're passing all your classes, you can participate in a variety of activities.  One of them is dodge ball.  For reasons I'll never understand, this is one of Mark's favorite activities.

Yesterday I picked him up from school and he excitedly told me, like he does on all dodge ball days, about how much fun he had.  "I'm on the strike team," he said proudly.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It's sort of an alliance.  My friend Strider asked me to be on the strike team.  We're sort of the best players and we help each other."

So, you see, Mark and me--we're basically twins.