Still In The Game

“Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.”

― Babe Ruth

While it’s true he did not leave our city under the best of terms, and yes, that curse did some damage, you have to love Babe Ruth for his contribution to the game.

Babe Ruth, Fenway 1934. NB: My family seats were right where the guy on the dug out is squatting down. I grew up on hallowed ground

 Recently the topic of sports came up in our house, but specifically youth sports. My children were given every opportunity to play any sport that interested them. We had Saturday mornings of soccer and hockey, afternoons of basketball, field hockey, and, my personal favorite, badminton. With my boys, they were “One Season Wonders.” They tried one season of more than a few games and then, by about 4th grade, they were done. Neither of them found that playing an organized team sport was for them, but they both are active, fit, and enjoyed boxing, skateboarding, and biking.

My daughter, however, really bloomed in high school sports. She joined the track team, both winter and spring, as well as fall cheer, and will graduate in 2020 with at least two varsity letters. This is pretty amazing for our family because I had so little experience as a sports mom. Oh, and for the record, yes, cheer is a sport. You try doing backflips down the entire length of a football field, and tossing teammates into the air (and catching them too.) When I went to a track meet, thankfully a friend from high school, who had a child on the opposing team, was able to tell me what was going on, because honestly, from the stands, I had no idea. There were javelins, and heavy disks, and people running around and leaping over things. I was expecting it to be all dreamy, like Chariots of Fire when they all run on the beach, with a crisp musical score. It was really fun, but definitely not like the movies.

I didn’t get to every game or meet my daughter participated in, and the same was true for her brothers. While I was often the driver and got everyone to and from most practices and games, there was no way I could go to all of them. Honestly, there were some I never even tried to get to, like the football game on a wicked cold Friday night, in the rain. When I picked her up I had hot chocolate, so that has to count for something, right? Well, in the discussion on sports, some parents said they made it a point to go to EVERY. SINGLE. GAME. I was asked, “Why would you not go to the game?” Um, did you not hear me about the rain? Someone even sent a link to an article by some “expert” that implied that going to every game was critical, and your kids are not telling the truth when they say it doesn’t matter. It matters. Capital “M” matters, like, it’s a huge deal if you don’t go to every game.

Hell’s bells people, I am THISCLOSE to having gotten my last child to adulthood. You’re going to tell me now that some 2nd-grade soccer scrimmage that happened while I was browsing the shoe aisle of Marshall’s will have my kid in therapy? Trust me when I tell you there’s lots more material than that. I’m not buying it, not even a little. I’m so over the ever-changing criteria of what constitutes a good parent. Let’s not even start about how mothers are held to a different standard than fathers, that’s whole other column. It’s insane, and it needs to stop. You know how the statistics show that children and teens today are experiencing unprecedented levels of stress and anxiety? It’s real, and while anxiety, OCD, depression, and other mental health issues are all neurobiological medical conditions and certainly nothing to laugh about, you have to wonder if some of the everyday stress that we all experience comes, in part, from other parents. 

We all know that one SpongeMom JudgyPants on the sidelines, taking mental attendance of who is there and who is not, and who didn’t take their turn bringing the orange slices. There’s always at least one Frat Dad screaming from the stands because he’s clearly smarter than the coaches, the umpires and the rest of the dads who didn’t show up. Stop it already. A parent’s presence at a game is a beautiful thing, except for that time when a bunch of angry baseball parents stormed the field and a 13-year-old umpire had to break up a brawl. At least a few of those “sports fans” should have stayed home. I might not have been at every field, but I haven’t struck out yet, and I’m still very much in the game.

The judgment has to stop. No one should be scanning the bleachers and making assumptions about why so-and-so isn’t at the game. Some random Internet child expert doesn’t know me, my kids, or our lives. I will be in the stands when my daughter is recognized at Senior night, even if it rains, but if you don’t see me at some other game or meet and you think that makes me a bad mother? Blow it out your seabag, as my mother used to say. Remember, when you point your finger at someone else, you still have three more fingers pointing right back at your own face.