"Great, marching band will be over then," I told Mark. I was glad he'd have an extracurricular activity for each season.
Except...that's not how high school sports work. Turns out the "season" is when games start. But practice starts...the first week of school.
I was really surprised to hear that ("Are you sure??"). But between band and basketball, Mark's had very little time (or energy) to get himself in trouble the past few months.
Mark hasn't played on a basketball team since he was 6, so I also forgot how insane the parents are. (Soccer and baseball parents are tough, but basketball parents are crazy intense!) When I casually asked if the teams had practice over Thanksgiving break, one dad shot me the stink eye.
"It's High. School. Basketball," he said slowly, because what the hell was wrong with me?? "So, yeah...count on practice."
Well, okay, then. So much for Mark's sleeping in late and slacking about the house plans! And so much for my plan to enjoy a couple weeks of quiet after all the band activities.
"We have our first game during the break," Mark told me. He also had his second, third and fourth games--they were playing in a tournament all week.
Unfortunately, I missed the first game because of work.
"It's okay," Mark said.
"What position did you play?" I asked.
"Left bench," he answered. Apparently, he didn't get much game time.
But he proudly modeled his bright blue uniform for me.
"Look at my number!" he said, excitedly pointing to the 1.
I knew his team nickname is Type 1, a reference to his diabetes. (I was appalled to hear that, but Mark thought it was funny.) When they passed out uniforms, Mark convinced Coach to give him number 1, because of his nickname.
I love Mark's sense of humor.
I almost missed the second game, though, because I didn't know Mark actually had two uniforms. I walked in, saw white uniforms playing green uniforms, and left. Turns out the home team uniform is white. And, just to further confuse me, Mark wears a different number with the white uniform--this time he was number 0.
Yes, ZERO. I hoped that wasn't the number of minutes he was gonna play in the game.
But my timing was perfect--Mark jumped into the game when I got there!
He played about 10 minutes. He played exactly like 6-year-old Mark did, mostly just running up and down the court, or standing at the three-point line yelling, "I'm open! Pass to me!" That kid does not have an aggressive bone in his body--he gave himself a wide berth from the opposing players. No one was going to shove or get shoved on Mark's watch.
At half time, Coach lined the boys up to practice shooting baskets. It wasn't very exciting, so I leaned against the wall and played on my phone.
Then, just as Mark ran up to the basket, three young female voices yelled, "WE LOVE YOU, MARK!" Mark smiled, jumped a little higher, and made a basket. He high-fived a teammate, then ran confidently to the back of the line.
I whipped my head around toward the voices. The girls were waving wildly and giggling. I realized they were Mark's band friends, but still...they were girls. Girls yelling "We love you" at my baby boy. And now I had bigger things to worry about than how much game time Mark got.
But it all ended well. Mark's team won with a buzzer beater, and Mark celebrated on court with his teammates. Then he strutted over to the three girls, hugged them, and left with them.
Seriously??? I'm the devoted mom who left work early to come watch a game I have no interest in, and he leaves with the girls? I have seen the future, and it is not pretty. (Well, actually, it is pretty, as pretty as a trio of 15-year-old girls. It's just not pretty for me.)
And suddenly, his team number didn't bother me anymore. Because just like a Disney character, he transformed from zero to hero right before my eyes.
It's gonna be an interesting season, that's for sure.
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