Kicking Mushrooms

One of the great things about our new house is that it’s within easy walking distance to our daughter’s school. We can walk around the block or take a short cut by walking through the park and canyon behind our house. The kids love this because they’re able to scam us into stopping at the park at least 3 times a week, but there’s something else that they enjoy even more.

There’s a patch of grass roughly the size of a football field by the park. For whatever reason, there’s a spot about 10 feet wide in the middle of that grass where mushrooms love to grow. One of the kids’ greatest joys is running around and kicking those mushrooms.

I have to admit that I enjoy it as well. They sit there all teed up just like a football or golf ball, and there’s always a nice, satisfying THUMP when you really connect with one.

One of the most entertaining moments of the last month was when I caught hold of one and hit my wife right in the side of the head with it. Yes, I was absolutely aiming for her, but I didn’t think there was any way I would actually hit her. When I played football in high school, I was horrible at lots of different positions, but kicker wasn’t one of them. I was really horrible at that, and my soccer career consists primarily of coaching 3 year old kids. There was no way I was going to hit her in the head with a mushroom by kicking it…until I actually did.

It…

Was…

AWESOME!

So, why am I sitting here and writing about mushrooms? (I would argue that the real question should be “why are you sitting here and reading it?”) Well, it appears that my mushroom kicking karma has come full circle. There was a little fungus perched perfectly on top of the grass today, and I gave it everything I had…

…and hurt myself.

I managed to tweak the knee that I had to have surgically repaired when I was 19. I think it’s ok, but I’m now limping around the house because I decided to kick a mushroom…

…stupid mushrooms…

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