Tonight I spent $5 to go to a girls basketball game to watch my nephew play--in the pep band. I came because he wanted me to hear him play and I didn't want to make the mistake with him that I did with my own children. If I cannot repair the damage, at least I will not repeat it. Reed and I are not sports people, we didn't play team sports, we don't watch them on tv and my interest in the Superbowl is limited to the snacks. Our children were involved in little kids' sports like tee ball and little dribblers basketball, but lacked both the interest and genetic material to pursue sports much beyond seventh grade. But both Britten and Will assisted the coaches in high school volleyball and basketball and we were often told how helpful they were to the team. We were told because we didn't know for ourselves, because we weren't there.
When our children were players I didn't miss a game. I helped keep stats for fifth grade girls basketball even though I had no idea what I was doing. I froze on the bleachers at Will's, and then Tracy's football games. I cheered and brought snacks and encouraged through loss after loss because I wanted to be there for the things that were important to my children. I wanted to be the mom I never had. My mom was never there for the mother daughter tea or the field trips or to bring cupcakes for my birthday. And I wouldn't have wanted her there anyway because schizophrenics don't do well in public.
But somehow I missed the memo that being at the games was important to my kids even though they weren't playing. Their involvement with the teams was an important part of their high school experience and I willingly, cluelessly missed it. I know this is only one of many mistakes I made as a parent, but if I got one chance to edit my childrearing, this is the place where I would click undo and insert myself on the butt busting bleachers, because it was not about watching sports or interrupted dinner times, it was about being there.
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