It’s amazing what observations can be made during a treadmill run at the Y. I’m facing the clear glass spying the parking lot to help pass time during the painful torture of staying fit. I know it’s almost 9 am because minivans are rolling in and the lot is buzzing with parents and kids making their way into the gym for Saturday morning pee wee basketball. Single moms, single dads, grandparents, mom and dad seem to be on a mission as they file into the gym.
Some kids eagerly run ahead, excited about the challenge ahead. One mom carries her 3 year old daughter in her arms as brother lags some distance behind with an anxious look on his face. Reluctance. Clad in crinkled gym shorts, Y tee shirt, and size 6 tennis shoes, they are wondering, “Can I do it? “Can I make mom and dad proud?” “Can I really dribble down the court?” “Hope I don’t trip today.” The orange rim goal looms overhead twice their height. It requires both arms to lunge the massive ball onto the glass backboard. The giant sphere swishes the net….. falling short of the rim.
I walk by the glass enclosed play area and a camera flash goes off as memories are collected for bragging rights later. As rubber soles slide across the shiny polished wood floors, friction squeaks are heard above loud parents yelling, “Go girl!” “Way to go!” “Come on, move it!” Controlled chaos. Herding cats. “Over here!” “Shoot!” A friendly ref blows the whistle and calls it out of bounds. He points in the opposite direction.
It’s become an American ritual. Every Saturday morning, families of all colors, shapes, sizes, make their way to the soccer fields, baseball and football fields marking spring, fall, and winter. Summertime is reserved for swim teams.
Yea I remember when. My oldest just turned 29 yesterday. Once my 2 boys grew up, it was a couple of years before I could drive past an empty soccer field without getting a lump in my throat. That seems like a long time ago. But for some reason, today’s blast to the past makes it seem as only yesterday. Saturday mornings at the Y and to the various sport’s fields filled each Saturday. Late lunches at Joe and Mima’s with great cheese stake sandwiches or chicken wings at Old Country Buffet. Crash Saturday night during a card game with friends.
Yea, I remember it all. If your kids are grown like mine, then take some time out to sit and remember these rituals of parenting. If you’re not there yet, you’re not married or you don’t have kids, then you have more to look forward to. If you’re there now, savor it. Don’t rush. Don’t wish it away. Get present. Be aware when holding your son’s hand as you march defiantly into the gym on that cold December morning. Notice your little girl’s stride as she attacks the ball mid court. It will pass soon enough. There’s only a few more trips to the soccer field. The days are numbered. It is a spectacular journey.
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