My daughter rarely cries.
A week ago, though, after I picked her up from high school tennis practice, she sat in the minivan and sobbed.
She had made the varsity tennis team, not just as a freshman but as a 15-year-old who really had only held a racket in earnest for about six months.
Li’l Diva’s coach just told her she needed to be in uniform and ready to play in the next day’s match. And in the one on Monday. This Monday. As is today.