Dad and Daughter Together in the Cornhole Tournament

We had a lot to figure out as we prepared for battle. The Oppressed, who is still growing, needed to figure out the proper “oomph” to give her beanbag tosses .

Advertisements

The Oppressed thought it would be a great idea if she and I played in a cornhole tournament together. The tournament was at the local YMCA. I play cornhole occasionally. If you play, you know how fun it can be. If you don’t play cornhole, you should.

There were plenty of other sights to take in that day. The Oppressed and I saw a raffle table, a food truck. There were five or six cornhole courts set up at the playing field. Every team, including us took turns to practice our skills. There were some practice matches before we kept score for real.

The Cornhole Tournament

If you don’t play cornhole, you should.

We had a lot to figure out as we prepared for battle. The Oppressed, who is still growing, needed to figure out the proper “oomph” to give her beanbag tosses. At first, the tosses didn’t reach the board. The arc was too high, then she adjusted her footwork. After tweaking the angle, she was able to hit the board.

Our target for the day.

Sometimes hitting the board was enough to score a point. Unfortunately, the boards were waxed and varnished. They did look pretty, but this prettiness presented another challenge for father and daughter alike. The beanbags would slide off the boards and on the ground. You only get points if your beanbag stays on the board for the entire round.

There was an occasional stroke of luck for us from time to time. Sometimes, we would get our beanbag in the hole. When this happened, the best our opponents could hope for was to get theirs in the hole on offset the points we had scored.

I talked about The Oppressed throwing the beanbags. My throws weren’t that much better. I made adjustments as best I could. A little more arc here. Aim over there. During the game, I tried to shout advice to my daughter from time to time. Unfortunately, our efforts and my advice didn’t do us much good. We lost the first game. We lost bad.

A look at the cornhole action.

I wasn’t too upset about it, neither was my daughter. It was a double-elimination tournament, and a little break in the action gave us time to discuss strategy for the next game. I liked our chances for the second game. Between the warm-up rounds and the first game, there was enough practicing and fine-tuning for us to redeem ourselves in the second game.

The Second Game

We were ready to go for the second game, and we got out to an early lead. This was good for us. It would give us a chance to stave off elimination. Plus, the extra games would give us a chance to improve our skills, which meant better throws and more points as the tournament continued.

The final score wasn’t pretty. That’s us on the left.

Our lead was short-lived, however and we fell behind. I wasn’t worried, though. I was confident we would catch up and retake the lead. We didn’t retake the lead.

Our team was eliminated in two games. It was pretty ugly. I don’t know if it was our technique or if it’s just been that long since I played a sport (Cornhole is a sport, right?), but we did not fare well at all at the YMCA Cornhole Tournament. We needed to assess our effort and future, if any with cornhole.

Lunch, and a Different Game

We commiserated over lunch at a local restaurant. The Oppressed chose where we would be eating. Coincidentally, it was where The Boy celebrated the end of his baseball season.

I like this place because it has Keno. I like to play Keno when I go out to eat. The Oppressed saw what I was doing, and when she saw that I needed to pick numbers, she immediately decided that I needed her help in choosing said numbers. She was very proud as she presented my slip to me with her specially chosen numbers.

Numbers were played. We watched the Keno screen as we waited for our food. We talked about our day at the cornhole tournament. When the food came, we ate and continued to watch the screen for our numbers. We got some of our money back. We didn’t get it all back, just some. The Oppressed wants to play Keno again. I’m not sure how I feel about her gambling so early.

A Fun Field Day at My Children’s School

Advertisements

There have been more exciting events and experiences as the school year winds down. Some events were a field trip to the zoo. This time, there was a Field Day held right at the school.

I volunteered at The Oppressed’s field day. This was a great time for students, parents, and faculty alike. Not only did I get to play some games with my youngest daughter, but I also got to talk to the teachers and get the real lowdown on what’s been happening at school.

Kickball

Field Day was a learning experience for me and the children. I manned the kickball station and got the rules from the coordinators before my first group of cherubs descended upon me. Apparently, you can’t throw the ball at the runner anymore. I’m not sure when that rule came about but here we are. No throwing at people.

I’m not sure exactly what it is the children do with themselves nowadays, but this is why I weep for the future of our country.

Another situation I needed to adjust to was actually needing to explain kickball to the little Field Day warriors. Kickball was almost a rule for me and my friends at recess. Apparently, that was then, and this is now. I’m not sure exactly what it is the children do with themselves nowadays, but this is why I weep for the future of our country.

This used to happen every day at recess.

After explaining the rules of the game, we are ready. Games last about 15 minutes before the signal to move to the next station. Children excitedly move on. A new group of eager, active students arrive. I explain the ins and outs of kickball to a new band of children. Each time I introduce the game to a new pack of participants, I hope I’m passing on a love and appreciation for the great game of kickball. As the students leave the field and the glorious games, they tell The Oppressed how much fun they had at my station. The Oppressed passes the approving remarks on to me later that day.

Cornhole

The week brought another Field Day. It’s nice to see the school sending the children outdoors for activity. This time, there are more grades involved than just my daughter’s. The Boy will be there, but a prior commitment prevents me from being there when it’s his turn. I’m there for The Oppressed, though. There is no kickball for me and the children this time. Instead, I am running the cornhole station.

There was a slight faux pas committed by Yours Truly on this fine and glorious day. I awarded two points if the beanbag went in the hole. You’re supposed to get three points in Cornhole. I apologize to all children who were cheated out of that extra point. Besides not awarding the proper points, I also took another liberty with the game. Teams were given a chance to tie the game. An overtime format was created. Was that a thing? Who knows, but I made it a thing.

I oversaw the matches, cheered when points were scored, got excited when a beanbag got in. I got nervous when a team got close to winning and wondered if a team would get a chance to tie. Out of respect for the losing team, I did not celebrate with the winning team. I’m not even sure they would allow it, but I stayed away nonetheless. If time allowed, we played another game.

The end of the Field Day brought a Tug-o-War tournament. Students watched as they waited their turns. Students screamed as a team got close to defeat, then found it within themselves to give a heave and stay in the contest. A team emerged from all the others for the ultimate bragging rights that would soon be forgotten, as the end of the school year is upon us.

Tug-o-War capped off the day.

Thank You, Volunteers

Students assembled at the end of the day. Teachers congratulated the events’ winners and thanked the volunteers for all their work and contributions. I was happy to be there and spend some time with my child. Not only that, but it was nice to be outside and work on my tan.

I picked up my kids at the end of the day. It was a fun day. We talked about the games played and what their favorite activity was. The Boy was glad he got out of the classroom. The Oppressed was glad to be outside with her friends. I was glad I could spend a little time with her.

Follow me on Facebook.

Exit mobile version
%%footer%%