In middle school, I was eager to join a sports team, but my athletic abilities were nonexistent. I was tall and lanky, lacking coordination and knowledge of any sport’s rules. Growing up, I was often the last one chosen for kickball teams in elementary school. Yet, the allure of being part of a team community was strong. As eighth graders prepared to enter high school, team members basked in a sort of popularity, complete with uniforms, decorated lockers, and school-wide pep rallies.
I decided to try out for volleyball and surprisingly made the team. The head coach even appointed me as captain. However, before you think this was a triumph, I must clarify that I led the C team, which consisted of sixth graders who were just as inexperienced as I was. My captaincy was a disaster—I struggled to call plays due to my lack of understanding of the game. Despite my kind encouragement, I had no real experience to draw from. The season ended, and I opted not to continue with the high school team.
Fast forward to motherhood, and I find myself navigating the sports world once again—this time with four kids. It appears I’m expected to embrace the “go big or go home” mentality, immersing myself completely in the world of athletics.
I observe other parents shouting at referees and their own children, as if every misstep is catastrophic. Some don glittering t-shirts emblazoned with their child’s name and number, waving pom-poms and banners with fervor. Their enthusiasm is almost deafening, reminiscent of a toddler throwing a tantrum in a candy store. Others insist that even a torrential downpour should not cancel a four-year-old’s baseball game.
Today’s young athletes engage in more than just practices and games; they participate in photo sessions—both individual and team. There are parades and award ceremonies, which feel extravagant and alien to me. I grew up in a household that viewed sports for what they are: games, not serious business.
Now, as a mother, I realize that sports parents take it very seriously. My kids have tried various activities—soccer, tennis, martial arts, hip hop, and gymnastics—often labeling them as “okay.” I believe in encouraging exploration rather than confining them to a single pursuit unless they show an undeniable passion.
Currently, one child plays basketball while another cheers. Despite being a “basketball mom” for nearly six years, I remain uncertain about the sport’s rules. To this day, I cannot grasp why some shots are worth one point while others earn three. I often lean over to my husband for clarification when the crowd cheers or boos, trying to keep up with the action.
Cheerleading is a new frontier for me. I had no idea cheer uniforms were so intricate—complete with leotards, tops, spankies, and skirts. I learned about cheer shoes only last week, mistakenly thinking they were just basic white sneakers. Then there’s the custom hair bow, an elaborate practice schedule, and numerous routines to master.
What’s my role? Do I cheer for the cheerleaders? Should I smile, clap, or wear a “cheer mom” shirt? When my daughter performs during halftime, do I recite the cheers quietly or shout them out loud? I picture myself as that overzealous mom from a certain movie, caught up in the moment or perhaps, I should just sit quietly?
Being a sports mom, especially without a clear understanding of sports, feels like an identity crisis. What am I allowed to do? Where do I fit in?
Additionally, I’m often reminded that teams seek volunteers. I can almost hear my inner voice pleading with the coaches not to make eye contact with me. My knowledge stops at distinguishing between a football and a baseball, and I don’t feel suited for any role. It’s not laziness; it’s simply the fact that sports are not my forte. I’ve picked up a few rules but feel overwhelmed and unqualified.
To contribute, I take on non-sporting tasks. I volunteer to bring snacks but worry about whether carrot sticks and apple slices are too unconventional. I can help cheerleaders with their sparkly bows and express gratitude to coaches without overdoing it—nobody wants to be labeled the overzealous parent.
As I brace for an upcoming season filled with basketball games, with one daughter on the court and another cheering from the sidelines, I prepare for a whirlwind of activities—sewing skirts, ordering shoes, and managing a busy practice schedule. The sounds of buzzing whistles, squeaking shoes, and enthusiastic fans are already echoing in my mind.
I know it may seem trivial, but showing up for our kids is crucial to them. I intend to be there, even if I feel awkward and unsure about my role. It’s reminiscent of my middle school days, thrust into a world where I feel out of place.
Ultimately, I’ll remain in the stands, armed with snacks and water bottles, clapping cluelessly and asking my husband, “What just happened?” While I may not fit the mold of a traditional sports mom, I am undeniably a proud mom.
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In summary, while I may not be the quintessential sports mom, my dedication to my children and their activities remains unwavering.
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