When I was younger, my mother didn’t always understand my
obsession with sports, why they were so important to me. Didn’t
understand why I would cry when my high school basketball team lost
an important game. Or why I insisted on wearing my Chicago Bulls
hat to school every day.
When I was younger, my mother didn’t always understand my obsession with sports, why they were so important to me. Didn’t understand why I would cry when my high school basketball team lost an important game. Or why I insisted on wearing my Chicago Bulls hat to school every day.
But despite our very different perspectives, my mother supported me. There she would be, sitting in the car early on Saturday mornings waiting for me to come out of the house so she could drive me to practice. She would be in the stands at my basketball games. No matter how crowded the gym was, I could point her out. She wore all white – her nurse’s uniform – because she came straight from work.
Dad bought us the basketballs, baseball gloves, soccer balls and prepped us for games. But without my mom’s help, my dad would have had his three ponytailed daughters in their uniforms, in the car with all the equipment, fired up and singing “We Will Rock You” with nowhere to go. That’s because my mom was the one who signed us up for leagues, filled out all the paper work and got us our mandatory physicals so we actually had a game to go to with Coach Dad.
My mom didn’t get the chance to play sports as a kid. Growing up pre-Title IX, she have the opportunity. But she claims she would have been a good athlete.
I don’t know how much natural athletic ability she would have had. I do know that Mom would have been a tough competitor. The woman gets her cavities filled at the dentist’s office without Novocain. There are lots of types of bodily pain I’d be willing to endure for good reason. That, by a long shot, is not one of them.
My mom is thousands of miles away, but I’ve found many like her in the time I’ve spent roaming athletic fields, sitting in gyms and getting to know the athletic community while doing this job.
I’ve met some extraordinary sports moms: A mom who coached pregnant right up until the day she gave birth, then came back a couple days later for the CCS playoffs. A mom who makes sure not just hers, but everyone’s kids get spots on Little League teams. Female coaches who nurture their athletes as if they were their own children. Moms who have helped put together Senior Day celebrations that I doubt could be topped by many other high schools. Moms who cheer just as loudly for other people’s kids as they do for their own. Moms who extended what was supposed to be a one-week road trip to Washington to a three-week trip that ended in Portland so some talented young softball players could live the dream of playing in the Little League World Series. Moms who hold down the fort so their husband coaches can do what they need to do to take care of business on the court or on the field.
And I know there are hundreds of other mother-figures I haven’t come across who also deserve to be mentioned here.
But you know who they are. Maybe they’re related by blood, maybe they aren’t. Either way, don’t forget to thank them for all the sacrifices and support.
I’ll be calling my mom. And when I tell her I played basketball the other day, she’ll say, “You’ve had two knee surgeries. Do you think you should be doing that?”
Probably not. But thanks for worrying about me, Mom.
