Unlike Billy, I have been able to avoid sports banquets for my kids, because my kids have never really been involved in organized sports. The one summer my wife signed my son up for tee-ball, he ended up spending more time at the concession stand than on the field. The highlight of the experience for him was getting to choose the number for his jersey. He chose the number 126, just because he could.
Well, all that is about to change. My son is now in the youth wrestling program at his school. He goes to practices. There's going to be wrestling meets at which parents are expected to volunteer. And, at the end of everything, I imagine there will be some kind of banquet/dinner/pot luck. Unlike tee-ball, my son actually enjoys wrestling.
That does not bode well for me. I have no problem sitting in dance studios, listening to music, and watching my son and daughter dance. I enjoy dance competitions--all the sequins and feathers and fringe. That's right in my comfort zone. Sweaty little boys trying to pin each other to the ground, however, is not in my wheelhouse. In fact, it's not even in my universe.
Don't worry. I will go to my son's wrestling meets. Watch him compete. I will cheer for him if he wins. I will cheer for him if he gets pinned. In between that, I will bring a book to read. Probably by John Irving--The World According to Garp maybe, since Irving loves wrestling. So does T. S. Garp. That's how I get by at sporting events. Well, that, and the occasional thermos of spiked hot chocolate.
Tonight, there is a snow moon and lunar eclipse. I'm thinking of offering a sacrifice to Selene, Greek goddess of the moon. Not sure what is appropriate. A pan of brownies? A plump pigeon? A vestal virgin?
Saint Marty is grateful for anything but wrestling.
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