When I Grow Up I Want to Be......

The search for the perfect job has been far from idylic.

But then, being laid off during one of the biggest "economic downturns" in recent memory...and during the winter at that, probably isn't helping the situation. Neither is the fact that I'm so used to being busy that having any kind of down time is rather unnerving. Oh, and add to that the daily updats that I'm asked for. People are genuinely interested and concerned, but one does tend to go against the odds when they are looking for employment in a rural area with a Communications background.

There is always another school of thought...

"What did you want to be when you grew up?" asks First Born Son.

The laughter that comes from me takes him back - and in that split moment the hurt and confusion that crosses his stabs at my heart. At what point to we stop believing in what we could be? When does the reality of mortgages, bills and responsibility cloud over the sunny possibilities?

I don't believe in regret. There is nothing in my life I would do over differently - even this time I'm in now. I'm heading toward something, I just have to wait until the timing clicks and I set sail again in a new direction.

So I'm not wallowing in self pity, or despair that I should have done something different with my life. But FBS's question has brought to life a new consideration - I want to love what I do.

If you look at the School Days archive my parents maintained for me, you would have seen a young girl who dreamed of being a cowgirl, a vet and eventually a stewardess. This echoed my interests at the time, animals and travel.

While I have been fortunate enough to travel without having to incorporate handing out snack-sized peanuts, my extent of being around animals has been limited to have a dog - and I look forward to someday having the time and resources to have a horse once again.

What I have now is a young family and I love the time I have right now to do all the cliche house-mommy tasks I've struggled to cram in while balancing a job - baking, cleaning, getting jobs done while the kids are at school so I can enjoy my time with them when they are home. Was it what I planned when I was seven? No, but at the time I didn't realize what all of my options were.

So as far as what I wanted to be when I grew up...perhaps I still have some growing to do!

Be Careful What You Wish For

So, how's your 2011 treating you?

Just days shy of the first month ending and a month since Christmas (longer since since I've checked in here - more on that in a minute - patience!)

At Casa Bowery, life has been nothing if not unpredictable. Starting back at the week before Christmas - The Big Guy was head hunted and accepted a job that not only offered greater compensation, but also recognized individual achievement. He has a company truck which means we only have one vehicle on the road. After 23 years with his previous employer - this was as close to a Christmas Miracle as we were going to get!

The Christmas Holidays were frantic, visiting with family and sharing the good news. Hosted Christmas Morning Brunch, add a hockey tournament, no, actually two, and enjoyed a small get together with our friends for New Year's Eve. Put this all together you can imagine why at the end of the week, I was practically in the fetal position. All I could think of was, I need a vacation from the vacation!

I had my next entry all ready - the week that The Big Guy started his new job, I was ready to share the big issue facing my little family - how to share a morning with a father who's had 23 years of peace and tranquility - aka - Welcome To The Real World Big Guy! It still may come, but isn't really relevent right now...

But Life - well, every now and then Life likes to pick you up by the back of the collar, hoof you in the hiney with a frozen work boot and then wash your face with snow, just for laughs.

This cruel form of karma came back the first day of TBG's first day on the new job. We all made a fuss when he left - as proud of him for keeping his cool with two kids and wife "underfoot" as we were of him heading off to the next stage of his career.

When he came home, the kids were all over him. They wanted to know every detail of his day - which he gave in spite of the fact that he was mentally exhausted and looked like he'd run a brain marathon.

So I let him share his stories, show us is lap top, the truck, the new cell phone and all the other details that make little boys glow with envy and pride. After the kids were weary of his accounts, I took the moment to give him some news about my day.

I was laid off. Indefinitely.

Happy First Day at Work Honey!

Being in the manufacturing industry, I had some idea that things were slow, but to say I was caught off guard by this news would not only be misleading, it would be hilarious.

He was very supportive and understanding and I felt like a heel for raining on his parade. We agreed to save telling the kids until the end of the week - which was to have been my last day.

Except, it wasn't. Higher ups in the company decided it would be best for me to leave immediately, as is the nature of Sales. So on Tuesday, I was packing up my desk and back to the house by 11 a.m. As long as I was being paid, I might as well start looking for the next job, right?

Finally, the Heir and the Spare come home from school.

"What are you doing home mom," asks First Born Son.

"Where is your brother?" I reply - yes, diversion is an acceptable tactic.

"He's coming - I threw his toque in the ditch and he's gone back to get it. Why are you home?" he repeated.

"Oh, I've been home all afternoon," I respond - do you see what I'm doing here???

"MOM Why are you home?!" At this point, I realize the poor little bastard is JUST. LIKE. ME. I would totally have done the same thing. Your Spidey Sense is tingling, isn't it FBS?

"JEEZ FBS, take it easy, you just got in the door, I'm wondering where you brother is - do you need to go help him?!" The tone tells him to take a break, and he does, but only for a moment.

Second Born Son finally arrives, asks almost the same question but is satisfied with the "I've been home all afternoon" line. He's so his father's son.....

I had hoped to wait until TBG got home, and don't ask me why. Because it would sound better with him in the room? Dunno. FBS waited all of ten minutes and came at me again.

So I get both of them in the same room and share my good news.

"WHAT? Why would you take a job where you could get laid off???" FBS demands. I'm astonished to see he is REALLY mad. It takes a moment to realize that he thinks I could have prevented this from happening which is why he has a small measure of anger directed at me, but the larger portion is aimed at the business for letting me go. He also admits that he thought we'd won the lottery since over the holidays apparently I had indicated that I would quit my job if we ever hit the jackpot. (Uh, it's pretty much the opposite of that...)

After I explain that any job can be subjected to a lay off, and that in this economy, millions of people have been in this position for much longer. I reassure them that I will be looking for a new job and that we don't anticipate any changes in our household for a while. His tone changes and it becomes evident that he's worried about me, but his surprise got the best of him.

At that point I realize, SBS has been rubbing my back and giving a reassuring pat ever since I told them. He hasn't uttered a word and when I look at him to thank him for his comforting gesture, he stops me mid sentence and gives me a huge hug. I love this kid!

The shock of the news was soften considerably by the fact that I had dinner in the oven and was giving a most delicious aroma. Immediately they seemed to register that there were some advantages to having Mama Bear around.

In the week since this has happened, I've painting the exposed flooring in the upstairs hallway, tidied up countless boxes that were half unpacked, set up the hutch in the dining room and emptied at least 10 boxes of china, decor items and silverware. The living room actually looks like a living room instead of a drop zone for everything from action figures to saws,and the laundry is totally caught up! I'm ready to tackle SBS's closet which requires some shelves to be built. Power tools anyone?

Fortunately, my contact at the local newspaper is thrilled to have more of my time and I will be writing more than I have in years. Stepping back into journalism is like putting on your favorite pair of jeans - the ones that went out of style for a while, but now are so retro they are cool again.

I love the fact that I have a skill I can use in a freelance capacity, and plan on using this as an example for my boys when it comes time to choose a career path.

Finally TBG comes home, and since from the boys perspective, this is "news", SBS greets him at the door.

"Hey Dad, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, dinner is ready! The bad news is, Mom lost her job!"

Factual, to the point and direct. I wonder if this boy has a future in reporting?

'Twas the Week Before Christmas....

Christmas is here.

Don't fool yourself - that it's only the 25th, because honey, we spend an entire MONTH preparing for this, so in my opinion, it's all part of Christmas.

So with boxes slowly melting away and Christmas decorations being pulled from their storage, we have a house that is an interesting blend of "Art Reno" and "Martha Stewart's Christmas Nightmare". Every candle I have been given that says "Christmas" is in the large front window, and in the 10 seconds I dash through that room, they call to me, begging for organization, thought, design.

Sure, later.

I have six squares done which is approximately, one...two...three....SIX more than I planned to make. So thumbs up for me! I don't, however, have all the wrapping done. At this point, the dining room has paid for itself as a storage facility for wrapping paper, bows, tape and every present I've bought this year. You have no idea the amount of satisfaction I get in pulling the door closed and walking away from that disaster.

As mentioned previously, I side stepped Christmas cards by issuing Thanksgiving/Halloween/Christmas greetings before we moved. My logic was to provide those near and dear with our new address and be able to relax in the weeks leading up to the "Blessed Day."

While those I have received do have the new address on them, I have vowed that whoever does NOT send me a card this year will NOT receive them from me in the future. Harsh? Yes. Un-Christian? Most likely. Rewarding as all Hell? Definitely. After 17 years of buying, scribing and paying postage for cards, I can say I've done my due diligence for those who have enjoyed and not reciprocated. YOU ARE CUT OFF!

The Big Guy and I have decided to take a year off gifting each other. Basically, the house is a gift enough, aside from the fact that the new TV is my gift to the family. We don't need more and we're trying to share this concept with the boys.

Fortunately, I've heard comments such as "When can I wrap Second Born Son's present Mom?" and "Mom! I have a couple of ideas for Christmas for First Born Son!" They get the idea of giving and we've already told them that in the grand scheme of things, they will not see a lot of presents under the tree this year. Ironically, it hasn't fazed them in the slightest - they are more excited about going to church Christmas Eve!

Which tells me we are heading in the right direction with this parenting thing. Cue the Angel Choir!

A Letter To Our House

While normally I would have a thoughtful tribute for Remembrance Day, I can say with confidence that I don't have the brain matter to do that right now.

With the remaining brain cells I have left, I can only focus on one thing. We move tomorrow. There is only one thing I could write about today....

A Letter To Our House
Dear Little House,
I must admit, when I first met you, it was not love at first sight. But I'm sure you thought the same of me. I didn't bring much to the table and you must have cringed when you heard some of the ideas I was developing.

With your little green roof and your orange brick, you looked like a big peach sitting without benefit of shade on the quiet little street. The back patio was made coarsely from masonry material and therefore chipping away. The single little tree on the south side of the back yard could have snapped off in a strong wind.

But your were OUR first home. You are the home where I learned how to be a wife and eventually a mother. We became a family here with you. You tolerated our dogs and friends with kids as crazy as ours and with every transformation we put you through, you seemed to get better with age.

We planted trees to give you some privacy and shade; designed gardens to enhance your features and eventually, threw on an addition that allowed us to stay with your 8 years longer than we would have otherwise. We made you a little cottage home.

The Big Guy and I have looked at houses almost from the time we moved in to you. You never gave us a moment's grief and yet we spent 17 years looking for something else. If the sale never happened, we would have been fine to stay with you. We would have continued to make improvements, and reinvent you. But this is where we part.

Thank you for being our shelter. Thank you for being the frame for some of my fondest memories - and some of the more difficult ones. I will never forget the feeling I had when we brought Second Born Son home from the hospital in a brutal snow storm. "We are HOME!" I will never forget the indigation both boys had when a neighbor's party left evidence on your front lawn. I was so proud of how they felt - frustration, anger, indignation. They know we took care of you, and they learned how to value their things by taking care of you too.

After tomorrow, I won't come by even regularly - I don't believe in looking back like that, but when I drive by, I will wonder if the mural is still in First Born Son's room, if your new owners love the bench in the back hall as much as I did, if they can appreciate the back yard for what it was and is now?

I hope and pray they live as happy a life there as we have had, and that they come to love you as much as we do.

May your eaves always drain downhill,

Sarah

"The boxes are stressing me out!"

I like Sunday evening dinner. It's a nice end to the weekend, gives us a chance to connect as a family and gives me much needed leftovers to kick off the week.

Second Born Son was going to miss Sunday evening dinner. He was happily kidnapped after his hockey game by a fellow player's family. A mis-read of the clock meant the "hour to two" visit was only going to be 20 minutes, unless, that is, he could accompany his friend to his sister's hockey game.

I did pause. I do like Sunday evening dinner. But then I realized, sometimes, you just have to mix it up. I agreed that he could go.

"Thank you," said the friend's mom. "He said he would like to stay. He said "The boxes are stressing me out!"

She laughed. So did I, except I knew he really felt that way. All week he's been like a little clock, but instead of winding down, he's tightening up. He's picking fights, being moody and more than a little cheeky. For the first time in many months, he's been sent to his room for a time-out. Did I mention he's three weeks away from being 10? Thanks an entirely seperate entry.

First Born Son is coping in his own way. He's become very clingy. Lots of hugs - all the time. This wouldn't be such a stretch, except for the fact that he's come off a year where he would pull away from you if you even suggested a hug.

With the last four days ahead of us, moving has been real, and at the same time, surreal. I can't imagine living anywhere else, yet I can't stop imagining what it will be like in a new home.

Where home used to be a place we could relax and find refuge, it has now become a place where we can't catch our breath or find our space. our personal items are being removed. We are losing our hold on this home.

So yes, SBS missed Sunday dinner. But it's ok, it's what he needed to do. Sometimes, you just do what gets you through.

Get Your Head in the Game

I've been assistant coach for First Born Son's ball team for many years now - like far too many to be honest.

I wasn't going to do it this year, but let's just say I was put in a "position". What amazes me is that in spite of all the skills a player may have and the practicing and drills a coach may run, little if any time is given to the "Mind Game".

That's usually what I bring to the table.

You can practice bunting all you want. You can have the best change-up in the league. You can launch a ball off a bat that burns up in the earth's atmosphere. But your head isn't the right place at the right time, you are SCREWED.

I've seen this too many times to mention. Lots of attention is paid to correcting a stance or perfecting a technique, but little if you are having a mental block at the plate - well, you just better get yourself out of that funk.

Huh?

The brain operates all of the other functions of the body. If your head is busy doubting that you can perform at the plate, your arms won't make it happen.

Never more was this demonstrated than in last night's game. We were facing a rival who has just come off of a B-Side Championship. It's a solid team but not indestructible.

First inning was stellar - we hit well and fielded expertly. We scored two runs and didn't let them near home plate. As the game progresses, there's a bit of bad luck with bad bounces and some near-miss moments, but the team is still positive and talking it up.

Then our catcher, who is physically likely one of the most co-ordinated and has loads of strength, launches a ball down the third-base line over the head of the third baseman. Why? He wanted the out at third, however, the runner wasn't off the bag. But you can bet for damn sure he was when that ball sailed deep into left field.

This pisses off the catcher, who yips at the baseman. The only person who speaks to him is the coach - who sets the record straight about the play - but in essence the catcher doesn't appreciate the dynamic of the play and he stays in a funk.

The next inning, the catcher is still in a foul mood and when the short stop has a messy catch and throw to first, he snaps and calls him out for it.

THAT is when we lost the game.

The coach marches out and speaks to catcher about his negativity and tries to build up the team. But the damage is done. We might as well have walked off the field.

I've tried to explain to players and coaches alike that you can't pound someone over the head repeatedly and then expect them to perform like a full-fledge member of the team.

Kick a dog enough times, and he'll bit you.

Here's hoping we can teach an old dog new tricks before we face this team again Monday night.

We can wrap this up...any time now.....

So two months into the adventure that is selling a house and the ride is still like a roller coaster.

We've had a showing a week, save for two weeks, and we have conditionally sold the house. We are waiting for the buyer to sell his home - and although he's had viewings, the offers aren't there yet.

So we keep showing the house. The Big Guy is awesome about it - even taking the idea of Staging a home so it's in it's best "light". The boys are terrific - making sure that they keep things cleaned up between the time we finish the actual cleaning and the arrival of the prospective buyers. Not an idyllic way to spend a summer!

Take today for example. We were called yesterday for an 11:30 a.m.-12:30 p.m. showing today. Totally jazzed, we get the place shining. The boys have a list of things to check on before they head out for the viewing. At 8:45 a.m., First Born Son calls me at work to say the real estate agent left a message cancelling the viewing.

I call the office and reception tells me that the buyer's mother had a heart attack, therefore, they won't be coming to see the house. Well - that's life. No one could blame them for not coming. The house looks awesome, but it's all for naught.

Speed up to 11:30 a.m. There's an urgent message from reception at the real estate office saying "CALL ME!!!" Another couple would like to see the house - can they get in ASAP. I call the boys who are just sitting down to eat. Fortunately, they finished their list of jobs before the cancellation call came in. Now they have to inhale their lunch and head to public swimming early to be clear of the viewing.

Not a easy way to go about things.

The other night Second Born Son said to me "I can't wait until the sign says SOLD, Mom." "Me too!" I told him. The summer is flying by and the weather is gorgeous, but it seems like we are in our Sunday finest every day. Just last weekend we had friends in for dinner - the first time all summer!

Here's hoping our patience pays off - we'd love to reclaim some summer relaxation!

In Praise of the Momma Bear

A friend of mine is hurting right now.

Without coming out with an "I told you so", I'm trying to be as supportive as I can. It involves her daughter and a relationship she is just getting out of. The boy she was with is a complex character - he's hurt other people, including First Born Son with his unique talent of bullying and mind games.

When my friend told me last fall they were an "item" she asked me about him. Without hesitation I said "Remember all that stuff I told you happened to FBS and that other kid....HE was the OTHER KID!"

Now there were two options here. She could have said "Dear Gawd, I'll put an end to this at once!" or "Well, let's see how this plays out." She chose the latter since she felt strongly about developing her own opinions and experiences with this teen.

I admitt - I've done this myself. Just because you've had a problem with someone, doesn't mean that I will. Maybe you were hitting him/her the wrong way. Maybe there are other people involved in the problem you are having? Who knows!

But in a more severe case as this, I hope I would be open to listening to someone else's advice. The sad part is, a relationship between these two kids has hurt the friendship between her daughter and FBS as well as strained the friendship the mother and I enjoyed.

Be that as it may - it's over now. The boy in question has now moved into familiar territory, name calling, rallying the troups, poisoning friendships and being hurtful to this girl in particular. Why did things change? Because he found out she was friends with a boy he didn't think she should be friends with! Yes, control issues can be evident before the age of 16!!!

The girl has moved on and is "dating" a boy who is much more stable, low-key and genuinely cares for her. We all know this is supposed to be a carefree time in a kid's life, but the antics of the past few weeks has put a cloud over this girl.

Hopefully she'll learn from the experience and not repeat her mistakes. Because her Ex is bound to repeat them...

BITCH

I'm a bitch, I'm a lover
I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way.

~Meredith Brooks "Bitch"

I remember the first time I was put in the same context as the word "Bitch".

I was 13 years old and my mother was in the middle of a nasty exchange with her sister. A bitter and eventually vengeful person, this woman had some beef and laid out her anger in a letter, including the reference that my mother's eldest daughter was "a bitch".

This wounded my mother terribly. I can only imagine how she felt inside as I know how I would react if someone made a derogatory comment about one of my children, never mind my sister.

At the time, I was shocked. I remember thinking I knew what incident she was referring to, but didn't think that action would qualify me as "a bitch." It took me a while to process the idea that there were people out there - in this case, a family member, who had a very dark impression of me.

Kinda heavy for 13.... That kinda crap messes a person up for a while.

I can remember referring to this branding throughout my teen years. Kind of an excuse for anything I felt contrary to - because after all, I was "a bitch".

Over time the brand became a badge of honor. I had a backbone I'm not sure I would have discovered as young and my ability to stand my ground comes from the fact that while you have a right to your opinion, I sure as Hell have a right to mine. Don't confuse my ability to concede or defer with weakness. I simply don't care as much about the issue as you do. Because if it matters to me, I will go down for the count. And there are very few people whose opinions truly matter to me any more.

As soon as I realized this, the better I felt about myself. A type of empowerment, if you will. Why worry about other people's opinions when there are very few whose opinions truly matter?

Which brings me to last week. I'm assistant coaching First Born Son's ball team AGAIN - long story there I won't bore you with - and it came time to hold the first practice.

Faced with 13 12-13-year-old boys, I realized there needed to be a strong impression made. The hormones are working. Some of them are as tall as I am and a couple of them easily out-weigh me. This is where you have to go for the weak spot - the brain!

"When I'm talking, no one else is talking," I started, which beautifully shut two of them up. "When Coach J is talking, no one else is talking. That's just common courtesy. When I'm here, I'm not FBS' mother. I'm Coach Sarah to him, just like I am to you. He's not my kid when we're here. There are no favorites. You will work hard. Don't get me wrong, I like to have fun and I'm not a prude - I'm not hung up on swearing or being frustrated when you are practicing. When we are in a game you WILL represent your town to the best of your ability, which means NO swearing, NO trashing the other team AND DEFINITELY NO tearing down your team mates. When I tell you to run, YOU WILL RUN. Softball is a running sport. When I tell you that you will be running an extra lap you, will do it, because gentlemen, I bring my own vehicle for a reason - and that's to stay here until the lights come on if that's what it takes. I will wait you out - that's right, I am a BITCH.

At that point, one kid fell off the picnic table.... All of their mouths dropped open - except for FBS - he knows about my bitchiness.

Three practices later, if someone speaks while I'm speaking, I merely stop talking and look at them. They immediately stop and usually they blush. When I'm running a drill and they are not executing the way they should - I stop - spell it out for them and they immediately adjust their actions. They speak to me with respect, or genuine friendship, since they realize that 90% of the time, I'm very easy to get along with and truly want for them to improve. I despise shouting.

While I would not suggest telling young girls they are bitches as a means to create character, I would have to say what started out as somewhat of a damaging experience has since become something that I would not change even if I could.

I'm a bitch, I'm a tease
I'm a goddess on my knees
When you hurt, when you suffer
I'm your angel under cover
I've been numb, I'm revived
Can't say I'm not alive
You know you wouldn't want it any other way.

When a loss is actually a win

Last year I mentioned to First Born Son that there was a spring hockey program that was new to the area - he might want to check it out.

He passed. I couldn't blame him. He had a crappy year and didn't want to prolong the agony into a 9th month of hockey.

But a lot of his younger friends took advantage and some of them, whose skills were about the same level as his were selected. He decided he wanted to try out this year. So we went for the three tryouts. Not expecting much because we knew what kind of season he had - if it was a grading situation, I would have assigned him a 75%. However it was something he expressed interest in and we want to encourage the kid as much as we can.

First tryout goes well. The Big Guy is happy with how FBS performs. He even gets a moment with one of the coaches who tells him he's doing a great job. I take him to the second tryout and at one point he shuts down a fast breakaway with multiple rebounds. Second Born Son and I look at each other and declare "Whoa!" Goalie boy is on fire!

Third tryout is THE day. I'm not anxious, but FBS is even though he's trying not to show it. We've discussed the odds of him being selected for this team - six goalies, two positions. There are well over 40 kids skating for the team and over half are going to be disappointed. The hardest part for FBS is the three other players who go to his school. Instead of being supportive and encouraging, are puffing themselves up on facebook and in person - while pushing him down. One of them is also a goalie, who FBS has dealt with for years. Raging ego. Talented, but could be more so if he focused and wasn't sloppy. He's big and strong, but not disciplined or fast, or flexible. He mouth makes up for all of that.

So we've discussed why FBS wanted to go through these motions. Primarily to see what other coaches have to say. To determine if he's capable of working to a higher standard when he needs to. To be evaluated alongside other goalies. He came home smiling from the first two tryouts. We tell him we don't expect him to put the kind of pressure on himself that other parents would expect. We tell him to HAVE FUN. And because of that - he plays very, very well.

Sunday comes, and the coaches - in the great tradition that is sporting cruelty, post the list for all to see. If you are on this list - you made it. If you are THAT list - you didn't and EVERYONE WILL KNOW IT.

FBS calls me on the way home to tell him he didn't get picked. He's not going to be on what is pretty much a Triple-A team. He has disappointment in his voice. Before he can get too far, I remind him of why we did this. I point out that his father, brother and I have seen him play the hockey we KNOW he could have played in the season. It's up to him to believe in himself - he proved it in three tryouts. (Note: Only one of the kids who was on his team this year did make the team, but none of three from his school were named - yup that Karma is a BITCH!)

I tell him I'm proud, and I love him, and I'm glad he TRIED.

He sleeps well and I know he's made peace with it. It's enough to keep him motivated until the fall when the madness starts again....

Walking the Tight Rope - Part Deux

Remember all that business a while back about what the right decision was - to force my kid to play ball or not?

Ya well, he's playing.

I gave First Born Son several weeks to ponder on his own, then set a deadline and advised him if he didn't have a summer sport selected before the end of the week, he was going to be signed up for softball.

Not too much resistance. I was cautiously optimistic.

Then Saturday came. He kicked up a bit of a fuss but agreed to go to the Community Centre where we signed him and Second Born Son up for their teams. He's happy, strolling around and checking out the display of BALL GEAR ARRANGED NEAR THE MINOR BALL REGISTRATION TABLE. Things get a little confusing, cheques are written, forms are completed.

I'm so flustered, I tick two boxes - one I meant to - to volunteer to help on SBS's team, and the first box, which was a Freudian slip - to volunteer to help on FBS's team. Not wanting to make a scene and being on a rather tight schedule, we leave and I explain the situation in the truck on the way home.

"So I DID tick the box on your sheet, but I don't need to be a coach for your team," I explain to First Born Son. "I meant to mark down on SBS's form."

He's not overly concerned and spends the next 10 minutes debating the pros and cons of having me involved with the team. Apparently I'm more of an asset than a liability in his eyes. I, however, have not yet decided how I feel on the matter. I've enjoyed coaching, but with boys in the 12-13 age bracket, I'm not sure I can handle their hormones, and those of their little girlfriends.... The Head Coach has asked me to return again, but for many reasons, I'm firmly on the fence.

The Head Coach happened to be at our house for an unrelated matter when FBS comes in the room and announces that not only is he playing, but I'm helping coach the team.

My mom figures that his motivation was less than honorable - perhaps he figures if he has to play ball, I have to coach!

Like mother, like son.

How not to teach sportsmanship...

The kid was now hunched over.

His shoulders shuddering up and down. In most arenas you wouldn't be able to hear what was happening on the ice, but between the superior acoustics and the intensity of his crying, the sounds of a soul defeated were heard to the very back row of the raised bleachers.

The insult to the injury was that the adults didn't seem to believe he was hurting. Not physically, because at least that would have been tangible, but deep in the core of his being. The sounds emitting from him were those of pain from a wound of the heart. A sound no child should ever make.

What should have been a thrilled victory in a playoff hockey game was quickly becoming a freak show. Adults acting like children, children acting like animals and finally a broken boy sobbing on the ice.

This.is.not.sport.

First Born Son is a goalie. It's a thankless position. You will never be credited for the win, and you will ALWAYS be blamed for the loss. If you can't handle that - get out of the crease.

But in this game, the goalie was obviously a little green. He showed his frustration with every smack of the stick against the posts and then the ice. He was annoyed that his teammates stood and watched while our forwards walked right in and smashed away at the puck with little if any resistance. Two goals in five minutes, and he was frustrated. He slams his stick into the metal posts.

"I HOPE YOU BREAK YOUR STICK LITTLE BOY!" Shouts a mother from our team, who then laughs with her friends. I'm am embarrassed at the comment, and the fact that she would yell so directly at a player.

By the mid point of the second period, the cracks were showing. If there had been a backup goalie, this one would have been pulled. One of our forwards rushes the goalie, who covers the puck for the save, and eats a face full of snow, thanks to the forward. The forward is removed for the penalty - and rightfully so - and the ref, sensing that there was a problem, gives the goalie a moment to collect himself. After all, we are talking about 12-year-olds here.

The forward's stepfather is in the stands and feeling self righteous I suppose? Embarrassed? Divinely appointed? yells out "ARE YOU OKKAAAAY GOALIE?" in a tone that left no room for interpretation - "buck up you little punk." The child - looks up into the stands, takes a breath and yells at the top of his lungs "SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"

While the "mature" spectators respond with a rousing "OOOOooooh" that would make any Grade 3 bully proud, the child is left at the centre of his end of the ice and he is overcome.

One of the more genteel mothers thinks he could be coughing - maybe he's got a respiratory problem. I know better. I can hear him and he's gasping for air because he's sobbing. It doesn't matter that the referee chides the "adults" for their immature behavior, and he can't hear his mother venting that the offending fans should be removed. He's just broken and hurting and he's on the ice so everyone can see him. The period ends and he flies to the bench as fast as he legs can carry him.

"SEE!" Says one parent "He seems ok now!?!"

Asshole. The little goalie collapses on the bench and doesn't move for the rest of the game. His coach props him up against the wall and his coach has to put his helmet on his head once the game resumes.

Mercifully he is replaced by a fellow player who doesn't normally play net. The third period begins and we continue on. More asinine comments - none nearly as pointed. The goalie just sits on the bench - never moving.

We won the game. But in fact - we lost. We lost our self respect, our pride in representing our community. Our humanity.

I see the Home team mother in the parking lot and take the chance to speak to her. She's still rabid about the public flaying her son endured. She yells at me. I take it because damn it, she deserves to vent. I explain that I too am a Goalie Mom, that I disagree with what our fans said and did. And that I was sorry. She seemed to calm down a bit and in the end, I gave her a hug.

And if her son had been there, I would have hugged him too.