Game Night

In rural Pennsylvania where I grew up, Game Night was a big deal. Whether or not it be football or basketball, folks came out to cheer on the local student star athletes. Like my brother and father before me, I was a natural born athlete. I was the 'star' player on the girls basketball team and the 'fastest' girl on the track.

Practice was two days a week, with games or meets two days a week, with one day for rest. Weekends were optional practices, special meets or games for which I was always involved. I lived, ate, breathed sports. It was really the only thing that my father and I could talk about.

You see, my mother had left when I was about 11 or 12 and my father was pretty depressed most of the time. Sports were the one unifying thing for our family. Our grandfather and my brother and father and I could talk sports. Who's in the playoffs, who sucks, who sold out, why was coach so and so such a dip-shit, etc...

My mother, who was going back to school and held down two jobs, was not really into sports. It kind of made it hard to relate to her at the time. I remember seeing her seated in the bleachers before a game. I would be such a bitch to her; ignoring her or casually approaching her like I didn't even care that she was there. She would probably drive at least an hour to come see me and I'd barely acknowledge her.

Worse, my father would work 8 or 10 hours and then drive the hour or two to wherever my game was. He'd sit and watch the game and cheer and cuss out the refs and then drive all the way back to town to wait for me to arrive separately on the bus. I could have driven home with him and made his trip home one hour less but I didn't. No, selfishly, I rode the bus home with my friends and then gave him the cold shoulder the whole ride home. I'd then go into my room and shut door and act like he was "bothering me".

I just passed my first rite of passage with my son. Valentine's Day. I have memories of sitting up with my mother making the Valentine's Day box and filling out the Valentine's Day cards. And here I am doing it for my son. It only signals that some day soon I will be staying up later than I really want to in order to cheer my son on at some game or meet and more than likely he will give me the cold shoulder.

There is nothing you can do at this point to make up for how you treated your parents, huh? I guess that is why kids treat their parents like crap. So that we finally know what it feels like to be a parent. Kind of a sick torture I think. But, for what's it is worth. Mom, Dad, I am sorry I was such an ass. I love you both. Thank you.