notes to self
Tales of a reluctant sports fan
It has been a trial for me to marry into, and then breed, a family of jocks. In theory, I believe that sports are good for kids. But in practice, I am not the least bit interested in them. My daughters have played soccer for a combined total of twenty-seven years and I still don’t know what “offsides” is. I have attended at least a hundred lacrosse games and I recently cheered when the other team scored. Pretty much the first thing I do when I go to my daughters’ games is look for other mothers to talk to. My husband has been known to sidle up to me and whisper,” Your daughter is on the field,” or “We just scored” more times then I care to count.
This behavior is in direct and vivid contrast to my husband who actually believes that he is on the field with them. Needless to say, they vastly prefer his enthusiasm (except when screaming “Dig, Dig, Dig!!” from the sidelines so loudly that he embarrasses them), to my indifference. He goes to every game he can and will go through torturous logistical scheduling in order to do so. I tag along because if I don’t, he makes me look bad.
For a while, my daughters were young enough that I could fool them. When children start playing soccer at four, all you really have to do to be a good sports mom is bring the Crispy Creams. But now they have caught on to me. Where sports are concerned, I am the family joke. So when Annie texted from college last month; “When you go to your children’s games they learn that you think they are important.” I was in no mood to be teased. Indignantly, I texted back, ”I think I know that?? Who went to every single game you played in high school?
And let me tell you, there were a lot of them. I want credit for every single one.
Later, Annie explained that she had heard this comment in a psychology lecture and it had made her think of me. Her reluctant fan, ever present on the sidelines. I promise you that I am not going to tell you to go to all your children’s sports games. But when you go, however unenthusiastically, they will remember it. Just as Annie, months after her last lacrosse game, recalls the presence of her reluctant fan, and recognizes what it meant to her. In the words of her psychology professor, my attendance showed her that her life was worth my time.
I was thinking about Annie’s text (note to self: and my belated appreciation), when Kate, a client with two young sons called. Kate was distraught because she had just been invited to spend half a day per month “participating” in her son’s kindergarten class. As Kate said, her son only goes to school from 9-12 By the time she drops him off, she has very little time left before she is scheduled to pick him up. The last thing Kate wants to do is spend one of those mornings in his kindergarten class. She feels like a bad mother, she thinks she “should” want to do it, and she can’t figure out why she doesn’t enjoy all the things that she does with her kids. Mostly, she wonders if she will ever get her life back.
Kate’s boys are five and eight. Chances are, they aren’t telling Kate how much they appreciate everything she does for them. Chances are, they can’t recognize it. Chances are, her husband doesn’t completely understand the rhythm of her day, and how much of it is dedicated to Sam and Will. I am pretty sure that no one is saying “Great job, Kate!” regularly.
And Kate does do a great job. But at the moment, it’s not recognized. Which can leave you feeling a bit resentful.
How well I remember those years. A mother with young children lives in the moment, a blur of school schedules, dinnertime and soccer games. So from the benefit of the other side of those years (note to self: whew!), I want to tell Kate what her children can not yet articulate. I want to remind her of how Sam will feel when she goes and sits in a tiny uncomfortable chair in his classroom. Not to make her feel guilty, but to tell her how much she matters. I want to say; ” Stop. Breathe. Imagine how Sam’s face will light up when he shows you his world. He will be so happy and proud.”
But I will let Annie do it instead. So from Annie, to Kate. No one can be present all the time, or do everything your children expect of you. But when you can, your presence will matter. They will remember it. It will make them feel valued. Eventually, they may even sit in a psychology class, send you an email, and make your day.