Is it possible to FLUNK a milestone? It might be...

I've been feeling pretty on it as a mom in some regards. How?, you may ask. Let me enlighten you. I've been serving many home-cooked meals. Except for last night. And the night before. And lunch the day before that. Details, details...my GOSH. I've already got my kids signed up in local, extra-curricular activities. Even-- wait for it--, even DEETER. Child #3, Big Papa Deeter Lucas, is enrolled in classes of his own. He was so excited when I asked him if he wanted to take tennis. "Yea, Mom, sure. I'll do it," he said, shrugging his precious 4-year-old shoulders.
There's something so endearing and adorable and downright edible about seeing a little person holding a little tennis racket on a big ole court with a big ole net. Needless to say, I was thrilled and equally excited that he was ready to take the plunge.
A few weeks later, we pulled up to the courts for the first time.  This was a milestone moment, Deeter having his first "own thing". One that had a lot of build-up, I must add, due to the fact that Deeter had to wait all the way til he was FOUR years old. The other boys? ....Two. I bet you they were two, maaaaaybe three years old when they met the same milestone. This was the milestone that would officially leave baby/toddler Deeter in the history books and welcome him into boyhood.
He grabbed his racket and hand-in-hand we walked over to the appropriate court. Already waiting was a handful of other little-bitties, some decked out in their tennis gear, looking like miniature pros. Yes, they were as adorable as it sounds. Everything's cuter in miniature size. Deeter and I started out on the sidelines, cautiously taking in this new scene. The teacher soon called him over to join in and participate in the first activity of doing the flamingo. Don't ask me what flamingo-ing it  has to do with tennis. But who cares! They're 4.
Deeter walked over shyly and took his place at the tail-end of the line. The kids in front of him took off in an awkward one-legged hopping attempt, which quickly melted into just full on running.  Granted, the directions weren't specific as to whether it was the one or two-legged flamingo they should be doing. Not that it mattered. Especially to Deeter. Because he has already lost it.
He took off running (maybe he was doing the two-legged flamingo?) right toward me, arms swinging all types of weapon-like. His face was already beat red and the words leaving his mouth were fiery, "I. CAN'T. DO. THE. FLAMINGO."
He buried his head into my lap, sniffing and snorting, and as often as his gasps would allow him, screaming, "FLAMINGO." Which is to be interpreted eff the flamingo. Make no mistake.
So after a grand total of about 36 seconds at our tennis class-- our first extra-curricular, our milestone class-- we were outta there. As I was being forcefully dragged out, you could see me with my head wrenched over my shoulder, holding eye contact with the instructor, mouthing my last words, "Yea it doesn't look like this is gonna work out...refund?  Refund?" Had to get the dirty work of breaking up out of the way on the ASAP.
Success? It's interpretive.

I will show you a picture of success where no interpretation is needed:

That's our big t-ball player right there. #12 has got it going on. #winner