Fall Ball season is underway! Nerves are of course running high, girls are a little excited, a little nervous. The thing is, it goes unspoken that despite what they say, it does matter because Fall Ball is a precursor to tryouts! So here I am, volleyball mom, commiserating with other parents, reassuring, being reassured, trying not to interpret the significance of a court assignment (that translates to over interpreting the court assignments.) And indeed, girls are beginning to drop down courts, drop down time slots – trust me on that one, it’s not considered good – while some are moving up, taking another’s spot on a higher court. Others are staying at the top, or not being moved at all. And it all reminds me of something. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something familiar about it, this tension, this competition, though I can’t quite place it. Or can I? Because I have this fantasy – sort of a hero fantasy, I suppose. It’s Monday night, we’ve just arrived, and there stands one of our young girls (not necessarily my own, could be any one of them) checking the board for her court assignment when I see that inevitable flicker on her face, of a face about to drop. She’s located her name – it’s listed for a lower court than she was on the night before and she’s not happy. I have this sinking feeling, the feeling I assume she’s battling, and then I…, I… fling myself in front of her and yell, “I volunteer as tribute!!”
‘Cause I just wish I could spare these girls from disappointment, embarrassment (it can be tough when this transpires among one’s peers!), failure (perceived of course, none of them are failing). They are getting better at handling it all as they get older, at least mine is, but at times they still have their moments and it can be hard to witness. And catching the sight of a young face trying not to crumble elicits another familiar feeling, an even stronger one though – that ache l felt when I saw the look on my son’s face as a preschooler, when he tried to give a little friend a present and she looked at him oddly, turned around and ran away. (He was so thrown by this that he then proceeded to run to me and give me a good kick in the shin, so on some level I guess I did take that hit.) The time he came home from a birthday party to tell me how he’d been excluded, the time my daughter didn’t get a part she wanted (trust me to say she wasn’t happy), or the time she had something insensitive said to her at school (really wasn’t happy). And here comes that fantasy – I’m lunging in front of them (in slow motion, of course), I push them aside, Take me!
But we survived it all, once upon a time, all these growing pains and disappointments, so they very well can, can’t they? Of course I know they will. But wouldn’t it be nice if they didn’t have to navigate these wrenching battles of emotional survival quite yet? Can’t they all just experience kindness and inclusion, joy and success? The world’s got plenty of people behaving badly, they’re bound to encounter some meanness later. Their lives will bring them tough challenges, long shots, heart breaks. There will be some real failures. Wouldn’t it just be so nice if every experience possible right now could be an exception to all of that, since there’s enough we won’t be able to spare them from later? I hear all the rebuttals coming – these experiences make them stronger, it’s part of life, it strengthens character, humility, confidence ultimately. I suppose there’s truth in all that. But this one time I’m going to spare her a little heartbreak. I’m going down and I’m playing on that lower court for her! I’m going back in time, to that party, that audition, that playground where my kids had to endure those heartaches and insensitivities and I’m taking their places! (I’m not going back to that preschool – my shin still stings from that one.) She’s going back to resume her place on a top court, he’s going back to that party where he’ll be equally in the mix, she’s going back and laughing with friends on the playground, getting that role, enjoying being part of the show like every young girl should – optimistic and happy, care free, having fun.
Working Mom's Blog 
All the character building I enjoyed — say, being called fat or loud or weird or a better mascot than athlete — can go to hell. I’d like to think I would have truly been able to be a strong productive person without it. 🙂
When I think of how I endured it, I think….”my mom loved me.” My parents, my awesome brothers defended me. Someone WOULD have taken the bullet for me. That knowledge wasn’t in my frontal lobes until I was 22 years old, but it was with me.
Just the wanting, the willingness by people who loves us, makes itself known in our kids’ lives.
When I think why i endured it, I don’t think “So I could become stronger”. I think…so that I could be scarred and know disgust and hate and shame really truly…or at least enough to prepare for the day I could empathize with my kids. So I could be ready for relating as a mom to their feelings of embarrassment or yearning, especially when they aren’t quick to forgive or see big picture. That’s my job now. Go thru it all over, this time validating their feelings a little before talking them out of what they feel.
And letting them know I would save them …if I could as my only means of comfort.
Late at night, the girls like to test and measure how much I love them. Some favorites are when I talk about walking thru fire or lifting cars if I need to save them. It’s not real. But the very thought of this lets them drift off securely to face another day on their own.
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