Monday, March 24, 2014

When the Sports Field Feels Like Siberia

In high school, I played on the tennis team.  What I remember about tennis is:

-that we spent more time perfecting the look of our uniforms than practicing our forehand strokes (that may explain our unsuccessful seasons); and

-tennis seasons (which started in March) could be downright cold.

In fact, it could be so cold that we sometimes shed our stylish tennis skirts in lieu of bulky, lined sweatpants.  (A teen who choices practical wear over stylish attire is COLD!)  I remember one time when the ball froze in mid-air...  (Maybe not, but you get my point.)

I remember my "woe is me" attitude during those frigid matches, but I don't recall my mother displaying a matching demeanor.  Actually, I never really thought about my mother and how warm/cold/comfortable she felt in the bleachers.  You want to know why?  Because I was thinking of me.  Only me.

Lately, I've thought about my poor mother and those bleachers. I've thought about her because I am now a mother in the bleachers or along the sidelines of a frigid sports field.  And let me tell you, it's not pleasant.

Today I stood along the side of a soccer field watching Cooper dribble the ball.  It felt like I was standing in my freezer during a wind storm. I had layers on, but I'm not sure they make enough clothing for conditions like those.  At that moment, I wondered if Cooper could just play soccer on the Wii and get the same workout.  I'd be happy to sit along side him on the couch (indoors. in heat.)!

I desperately wanted to flee to the warmth of my car.  To scoop him up in my arms and say, "Let's think about choir instead!"  But parents don't do that.

Parents sit on the sidelines and cheer.  They slap on a smile and say not word one about the miserable conditions.

Why do they do that?

Because love transcends temperatures.

Because pride isn't blown away by the wind.

Because that's what our parents did.

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