The Wrestling Match

Last week, Mark had a Scoutmaster conference so he could move up a rank in Boy Scouts. During the conference, he shared what he like most--sports.

The Scoutmaster invited Mark to his son's next wrestling match.

I think Mark declined right off the bat, because when I got there, he jumped in the car and yelled, "Go!!!" I looked around, confused, wondering which bank he'd robbed, and if I was the getaway car. But all I saw was the Scoutmaster walking toward us.

He told me about the wrestling match.

"Some boys from the troop are on the team," he said. "Mark can support his fellow scouts, his future high school, and meet the coach."

I realized Mark was invited not as a guest, but as a prospective wrestler. 

"Wrestling's good because you can start in high school--you're not out if you haven't played your whole life, like baseball," the Scoutmaster said. "And you can play it any weight--the starting weight is 106 pounds, so even a little guy like Mark can wrestle."

"I only weigh 92 pounds," Mark snorted.

I nudged him in his disrespectful little 92-pound ribs.

"Well, you've got all summer," the Scoutmaster said.

I told him Mark would be there.

"That was thoughtful!" I said on the way home.

"I'm not going," Mark answered, not quite as nicely.

I suspect he didn't want to hang out with the Scoutmaster, who comes across as gruff but is a really good guy. He doesn't take any crap from the boys, and he's strict, so I like him. Mark steers clear of him for exactly those same reasons.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I hate wrestling," he said, flatly. "I'm not going."

"You're not wrestling," I reminded him. "You're a guest. The Scoutmaster thinks it'd be good for you, so you're going." Mark's not the only family member who can dig in his heels and be stubborn.

Mark didn't mention the match all week, in hopes I'd forget. I did not. I reminded him about it yesterday, and reviewed the plan once again.

"Walk to the match after school," I said. "Bring your phone, your meter, and some snacks. I'll pick you up on my way home from work."

He just grumbled.

At 3:25, I waited for the inevitable phone call. At 3:26, my phone rang.

"You are going to the match," I said, instead of the traditional "Hello."

"I know," Mark sighed. "I'm just dropping off my backpack. Oh, and I'm cleaning out the cat litter box. It really needs it."

I immediately burst into giggles. Mark would rather stall by cleaning the litter box--his least favorite thing to do EVER--than go to the wrestling match.

I figured he was also trying to butter me up (I dislike cleaning the litter box too, so hey, good try, kid!). But like I said, Mark's not the only stubborn Dinsdale in our home.

"OK, have fun," I said. "See you at 6!" Mark grumbled some snotty reply, but I cut him short and hung up.

When I arrived at the gym, it was packed. On both sides of the gym, fans were standing, screaming at two skinny, muscular boys scrambling around on the mat.

I found Mark right away. He was sitting a whole section away from the Scoutmaster's wife, who was smiling and furiously waving me over.

Reluctantly, Mark grabbed his skateboard and followed me over.

Within two minutes, I was hooked. The boys were strong and quick, and it was a championship match. The crowd was stomping and cheering, and I joined right in. But Mark had other concerns.

"Did you bring me any water?" he asked, yawning.

I silently handed over my bottle of iced tea.

"I'm hungry," he said, as the buzzer announced a team point and the crowd went wild.

I slipped him a couple bucks and said, "No candy."

He returned with a bag of chips, which he swallowed in 30 seconds as the clock ran down. He then announced, "I'm still hungry."

He used my last two dollars to buy an ooey brown disgusting-looking power bar. He wiped some of the brown goo onto his pants, then tried to discreetly text his friends.

"Hand it over," I said.

"What?" he answered in the teen voice that's a perfect blend of innocent confusion, snotty attitude and affected indifference. I motioned again, he sighed and slapped the gooey phone into my palm. Lucky me.

The boys stopped pinning each other, and spent the next few matches just rolling around on the floor, which is not nearly as amusing as it sounds. I was losing interest myself, but literally took one for the team--the team being Adults Providing Good, Healthy Activities to Keep Teens Too Busy to Get In Trouble.

Finally, around 7, we excused ourselves for dinner and homework time. The Scoutmaster's wife thanked us for coming, and asked Mark if he was interested in trying out for the team next year.

My dear, darling son didn't even put up the pretense of being polite.

"No," he told her, staring just past her, toward the door to his escape.

I smiled, subtly nudged my little ingrate, and said, "He's concerned about being too small. But hey, he might gain more weight by next year, huh Mark?" Mark just growled.  

"I'm not doing it," he said, while we walked to the car. "It's just like grappling, and I hated grappling."

"It is," I said. He disliked grappling because girls and smaller kids kept beating him during his much-hated (and short-lived) karate lessons.

I also didn't volunteer the real reason Mark can't handle wrestling--because he's an only child. I have three brothers, and growing up in our house, wrestling wasn't a sport, it was a conflict resolution. It wasn't as organized as matches or fancy uniforms. No, you simply walked into a room, and got attacked for no reason. Wrestling wasn't a sport, it was purely self-defense, something an only child won't ever understand.

"Anyway..." I said, but Mark was already lost in his thoughts. He shuffled out to the car, imagining himself a high school basketball star, not a star wrestler. I imagined myself an only child, in a home without wrestling.

And I shuddered. Because, tough as it was, it shaped me, made me who I am--a tough chick with cat-like reflexes who doesn't put up with anything from anybody.

Including a 13-year-old with a bad attitude, the luxury of being an only kid, and perhaps, just maybe, some wrestling lessons in his near future.