My son plays travel basketball, which requires three practices and one game a week, two tournaments, lots of driving, lots of emails, lots of washing of practice uniforms, regular uniforms, carpooling arrangements, phone calls... it's a lot. But I do not regret it, because it is what my son lives to do: play basketball.
Each week, we spend four and a half hours at practice, driving the 40 minute round trip to the ice cold elementary school gym, where we freeze, because there is no heat. Each week for games, we travel 30 minutes there and 30 minutes back, spend $10 in gas, sit there for two hours, because we have to be there an hour before the game, for some God-forsaken reason, all to watch my son's team be crushed week after week, and see his little face droop further and further to ground.
But I tell my son, it's much harder to lose every game, than to win every game. That this is all part of God's plan for him... to teach him humility and strength in the face of adversity. How to be a good sport. How to shake off a loss and always keep things in perspective. And to remember: win or lose, he gets to play the game he loves to play with friends he loves to play with.
But on with my story.
Each game, as the minutes goes on, and the boys run back and forth across the court, having their little flashes of success, their many hiccups and failures, all of the boys are focused on the game, and nothing much else.
Except my son.
When my son has those moments... when he has a fast break, and throws up his shot, and... hold your breath, cross your fingers, say a quick prayer to Jesus... it GOES IN! HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH, THE BALL WENT IN! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? THE BALL WENT IN!
And with his hands still poised in the air, watching the net swish, he turns his head, his face scanning the crowd, the rows and rows of shouting, cheering people, until his eyes rest on my face. And he smiles. And the look on his face seems to say, WOW! Did you see that, mom? Did you see that? I did that for you, mom. I did that for you.
I know you did, my sweet boy. I know. And thank you. Thank you for making me feel so special and important. Thank you for thinking of your mom in your big moment.
Thank you for being the only boy that looks for his mother after he makes the big shot.
Thank you, for being the best son ever.
Thank you for being the only boy that looks for his mother after he makes the big shot.
Thank you, for being the best son ever.
As a bonus, it also makes all the other mothers feel like shit.
As they should.
HAPPY NEW YEAR.
And please don't get drunk and die or kill someone else, because that will just wreck your whole year, right off the bat. There's no coming back from that.