Sins of the Father

Growing up as a tomboy, I was lucky to have a father who taught me the things all good tomboys should know, like how to throw a tight spiral and how to do a left-handed lay-up. Those were important skills that ensured I was picked first in street football and now impress my children. Yet, my father failed me. He never taught me how to spit.

You athletes know how important spitting is. Imagine being an asthmatic recovering from bronchitis on a bike ride whose father never taught to spit. It's embarrassing. Actually, my immediate reaction to my pathetic attempt was, "Dammit, Dad!". I'm not one to generally blame things on my father. Sure, I've complained about how he gave me his short, muscular legs and insanely freckled skin, but those things aren't really his fault. He is to blame for this. Sins of omission can be the most painful.