SugarCube's Insomniac Asylum

My parents were not all that sporting. I did have to be on the ball. That became a deflating experience when I didn't get the point. They'd have me run it around the goal post again, then coach me into doing it again. Practice makes perfect, they'd say. I'm game. Are you game? They'd say. They were having a ball, I wasn't. Go figure. What's the point of that malarky?

Grown-up rules are another thing. My parents changed them as a routine part of the game plan. They said it was a necessary part of making me into a winning personality. All I wanted to do was kid around. Act like a grown-up, they'd bat that around, wondering aloud if I'd ever get to first base.

Maybe I'm a little mixed up about the meaning of having a sporting chance at life. I figure it's my parent's fault.