"Because I'm an athlete."

My dad is an athlete. He really is. Admittedly, he's getting older and he's probably not as up to speed as he likes to think he is, but he can still kick it. No matter what sport he's playing, he's convinced he can win or be the best because "he's an athlete." Like her dad, Morgan has a real affinity for sports. She's pretty naturally gifted that way, but she also practices a lot and commits her free time to improving her skills. She spends weekday evenings out on the driveway shooting 200 free throws, for example. I've always been a little jealous of them because I feel like I don't have those athletic gifts.

I might've been a better athlete when I was younger if I hadn't kept telling myself I wasn't cut out for sports. I might be a better athlete now if I stop telling myself I'm not cut out for sports. That's why, when the sign-up sheet for intramural basketball when around the room in Relief Society last week, I put my name on the list. Dad and Morgan, I blame you. You stinkin' athletes are making me do crazy things. Come Tuesday night, I'll be making a total fool of myself on the courts at BYU, but I figure it can't be too bad because athleticism has to be somewhere in my genes. . .