Mother's Day Tribute Part 2

As explained in my previous post in the spirit of Mother's Day I wanted to share a few stories about my Mother that don't involve her humiliation for the sake of humiliation. They are stories more focused on the impact that they had on my development into the person I am now and hope to be in the future.

The score had stayed the same since I had entered the game, leaving me with the satisfaction of a job well done. I had been sent into the game late due to my absence at a practice the previous week. In the first half the opposing team had scored 4 goals due to the lack of speed possessed by a particular defender on our team. All 4 had been scored by the same player.

After the final whistle blew our team gathered on the field to listen to our coach struggle for positive comments to make on our play. When he spoke of "Good power on our thrown-ins" or "Give a lot of credit to your keeper. He did the best he could with what he was given today." we knew we were in for trouble the next week. One solace I could always take was my parents meeting me with my bag as I walked to the sideline.

They were both fantastic about coming to every game they could, no matter how much I was going to play. Regardless of how I played my Mother would flash her enthusiastic grin at me give me a powerful hug and a "GREAT GAME BUD!" slapping me on the back authoritatively. I always thought this to be her way to make this seem like less of a mushy exchange in front of my teammates and peers.

On those occasions when I felt as if I had played well, as was this one, I would absorb satisfaction from my Mom's blind enthusiasm for her child. As I turned towards the sideline and tried to feign disappointment with my teams play while ignoring my own excitement for my success, I took notice of the void next to my father. I searched for my Mother amongst the other parents, perhaps she had gotten caught up in a conversation with one of the other player's moms. She was nowhere in sight.

"Where'd Mom go?" I asked my father as he handed me my bag. A huge smile poured across his face as he showed his teeth. An event my Father usually reserved for those moments he found lavishly hilarious. His belly began to bounce up and down as I continued to wait for an answer while he composed himself.

"She'll meet us over by the track."

This was away from the players and coaches as well as a detour from the direct line to the team bus. The 100 yard walk to our destination we were supposed to meet was filled with pleading gestures by myself for my Dad to tell me what would possess my Mother to go to such lengths to not encounter any other people after the game. He continued to laugh, chuckling out bits and pieces along the way.

I finally spotted my Mother, walking a brisk lap around the field adjacent to the one we had just played on. She had her hands on her hips and she appeared to be looking at the ground directly in front of her.

As she approached us the tension would have been more concentrated if not for the intermittent chuckles from my Father to my side.

"What is going on Mom?" I asked mildly concerned

"I'm sorry, I wanted to be there at the end of the game I just couldn't I needed to cool down. You played great." She gave me a hug, with no pats on the back and held me tightly for longer than she usually would in such a public setting. She did her best to understand embarrassing situations for a teenage boy.

"Cool down from what? What happened?"

The laughter from over my shoulder became obvious and my Father turned and walked a few steps away to be less of a distraction-or less of a target I was never sure of which. My Mother hesitated in explaining her odd behavior. To her the moment was still too fresh, and the anger too real. She looked around intently being sure the coach or any players were within ear shot.

"I just want to punch that Tyson kid!" Tyson was the player who had started in my place and allowed the one player to score 4 goals.

I began to see why my Father was having such a hard time containing his amusement.

"There is no reason he should have been starting and not you. What was the coach thinking?!"

My Mother had refused to take any path to her car that would force her any human interaction. She had allowed herself to become so worked up about her son not starting when she felt he should have that she became fearful of what she might say and do to whoever she did encounter. My Mother, being the kind self-aware woman she is, determined the best action would be a quarter mile detour to prevent herself from committing physical assault.

The reality of the situation was that I was not allowed to play that first half because I had missed a practice, standard team rule. This meant little to my Mother, as it would to most mother's I feel. When they see their child being treated in a manner they feel to be harsh they become completely different beings.

Looking at my Mother in that moment I could not imagine her as the woman who would rub my back when I was sick, or come to my bedside after I had a nightmare. There was no room for such compassion in this woman. The person I saw was so overcome by anger she was ready to throw down with whoever wanted to test her. This coincidentally was why my Father had decided it in his best interest to try to conceal his laughter from her.

No matter how much we deserve the consequences of our actions a good Mother will always be there, and sometimes she'll be ready for a fight.