Thursday, August 21, 2008

I Don't Know You Unless You Have Money

The Boy is playing football this year. I may have mentioned that.

He's 5'5" tall and weighs in at a whopping 120 pounds. He can't eat enough to gain weight. You can see his hip bones through his skin, and his pants just hang down low naturally because he's so skinny and they don't make pants long enough for his waist size.

And yet he's playing football.

He's gonna get creamed.

That being said, The Boy has decided he wants me to be no part of his football experience other than to fund it. I found this out when I was picking him up from practice the other day and happened to strike up a conversation with one of the other mothers. She asked if I was coming to the Mother's Scrimmage the following Saturday.

Uh, no. Since I don't believe I was told about it, I don't believe I'll be there. And since my idea of physical activity is getting up from the computer desk to go to the bathroom, I'll have to admit I'm not really thrilled with the prospect.

"Oh, it will be fun! They were handing out flyers to all the players after practice yesterday. Your son should have given you one. You'll have to ask him about it. All the moms are going to play their son's positions, then we're all going out to lunch. It'll be a blast! We're supposed to be here at 7 a.m."

7 a.m.? IN THE MORNING? To RUN? Yeah, that ain't gonna happen. Sorry, Chickie. But The Boy is gonna get an earful about the lack of communication on his part. You can bet on that.

When I queried The Boy as to what might have happened to the invitation, he first said he didn't get one. Upon further torture and threat of grounding, he admitted he had thrown said invite away as soon as he read it. Why? Because he didn't want his mom cavorting around on the field embarrassing him in front of all the other players.

And by the way, would I please not talk to any of the other parents when I came to pick him up? That was embarrassing him as well. Could I just stay in the car and pretend I was anti-social? Or better yet, that I was a servant of his very rich parents who had just come to chauffeur him home to the manse?

Yeah, sure Son.

The topper came a couple of nights ago when he brought home a booklet with a sign-up sheet attached. It was from the football booster club. They wanted parents to sign up to decorate lockers, provide meals to the team on game days, provide bus take-away meals for away games, create banners, help out with the concession stand, etc. As I looked at the booklet trying to decide how I could help out, The Boy looked at me and said, "You aren't REALLY going to sign up for anything, ARE YOU???" When I asked him why I shouldn't, he said it would be too embarrassing. Apparently I'm allowed to only go to the games, and then only if I sit quietly in my seat and contain my hooting, yelling, screaming, shouting, nose-picking and butt scratching. Otherwise I'll be banned.

Of course, last night he was quick to try to sell me a ticket to the first scrimmage of the season. He wasn't too embarrassed for that. Just like he wasn't too embarrassed to have us pay for the fee it cost to have him play football in the first place, or for the cleats, or the physical, or the contact lenses, or the football camp, or the weight lifting camp.

I will be so glad when he grows out of this stage....

1 comment:

Linds said...

Send your husband and stay home and eat chocolates and fan yourself and watch movies. Sounds a perfect solution!