It Sucked Not Getting An Opportunity

Years ago- before the car accident- when I would feel this way, I’d go for a run and silently thank the bonehead coach for a good workout. Since I have yet to regain strength in my joints enough to run, I have to channel my angst another direction. Let’s just say they were nearly perfect: crispy on the outside, soft and chewy inside and oh! the melted chocolate!
Last night we were home against a team we thought would be a tough opponent. With the score of 27-0 after the first quarter, we realized all the talent was at the Varsity level. That was great news for us as we assumed it would mean some time for our #20. We waited and waited…and waited. Finally with 8:36 left in the fourth quarter, we get to see Y warm up his quarterback on the sidelines. This is the quarterback Y says he makes look good in practice with his amazing one-handed leaping catches that get replayed in the kitchen after practice. #12 (qb) was sent into the game. Y held the football, waiting to be sent in as his receiver. Unfortunately the first string receivers were still getting all the reps. That’s it. That’s how the game ended. #20 never left the sidelines.
I became frustrated with the coaching staff, or rather those who termed themselves such. Was it really that hard to rotate some kids in and give them an opportunity, essentially thank them for working hard in practice every day? Especially with a score like 27-0? I tried to distract myself with household business as I waited for Y to come home. As I saw the lights of his car slowly coming down the driveway, I seemed to become increasingly angry at the entire football program. How dare they ask me to make them brownies when they can’t even rotate my kid into the ball game! It was raw Mama Bear anger!
Y comes into the kitchen. I try to play it cool. I fail. It went something like this:
I asked Y if he wanted to go hit something.
He said no.
“Throw something? “
He said “No.”
“Slit someone’s tires?”
He said “No.”
“Go for a run?”
He said “No. I have homework.”
“Make someone poisonous brownies?”
He said “No.”
I said “You’re not angry?”
He said “No.” Then he added, “It sucked not getting an opportunity. But I’m not angry, Mom. But if it would make you feel better, you can make cookies.”
And so I did. . .