Friday, November 2, 2012

Feeling the Pain

In sports there are winners and there are losers. And as a parent its only likely that you'll get clean up duty for the latter at some point.
Up until last weekend, it wasn't that difficult. A pat on the back and a "you'll get em next time" seemed to suffice.
But when my 11-year-old lost his playoff football game after an 8-0 season, I felt my throat constrict as I sat up high in the bleachers watching the final minutes of the game.
For the first time in my life, I knew what it meant to lose and care.
It was not my game or my loss but my heart broke for him and his teammates. I watched how hard he worked. His head wrapped up in every game, sketching out plays by flashlight in his room when he was supposed to be asleep.
This  game was a life lesson in the there-are-no-sure-things category.
Nothing is a given.
It seems cruel to tell a kid that.
I shuffled through the parents leaving the stadium and waited for the team to be released from their coach's talk at the end of the field.
The sniffles were audible.
I looked for my player and was ready to deliver a smile and a pep talk.
Then I saw him.
He was standing, tears streaming, still clutching his helmet, when he looked at me.
I hugged him and told him I was sorry.
And then I said nothing more.
For much of his life I had been the rescuer, the one who made things better when Buzz Lightyear broke, or the cheap Parade gun cracked and needed to be duct taped good as new.
Suddenly I had nothing, no magic eraser that would take the pained look from his face.
It felt empty until I realized  saying little and lending a shoulder was the best way to let him and me grow.
Losing is real. It happens and it will happen on the field, in love and in life for the rest of his life.
Feeling the pain and moving on was a better way to help despite the protective urges and cliched "it's only a game" sentiments coursing through my veins.
I wasn't sure how long the losing pall would last.
But when the request for ice cream echoed from the back seat on the way home, I knew it wouldn't be so long.