The twins are playing volleyball. While John and I have passed on many positive genetic attributes, athleticism is not one of them. In spite of this lack the girls seem to be rallying on their own merits, and the support of the coach, to get the ball over the net fairly often. Not always, however. 

The other day I was among the sparse crowd of fans, cheering on our team. One of the girls has a strong bump, and another can set reliably to her teammate. Others pack a wallop of a serve, and most are willing to go down on their knees to save a shot. 

But there were times in the game when things did not go well. Occasionally two girls would look at the ball, as if it were a foreign object that had dropped out of the sky. They assumed the other would get it. A few times girls would pound the ball into the net, and the point would be lost. 

Although I kept my mouth shut, my internal dialogue felt confident. 

" I coulda gotten that." 

My fists clasped into a ball, as if they were even now ready to leap onto the court and take charge. 

Right. Me. The one who was picked last in sixth grade. And for good reason. 

It is easy to sit on the sidelines and parcel out judgments as if my intentions to hit the ball, or make a kind comment follow through without mishap. 

It is a good thing that, much like my twins, I get another chance to try.