My Amazing Sons

Yesterday I drove to the Brownsville Rec Center to watch Brownsville Mennonite play basketball against Toledo Christian, only TC somehow didn't get the memo to be there at 3:30 and we couldn't get hold of anyone--coach, school, church office, nothing.

Toledo is out toward the coast so we figured their bus broke down in the mountains outside of cell service range.

So the school guys played against the church youth guys while we waited, and got worn out, and then Rita and Jeannette served the supper they brought along, and then the other team showed up. They thought the game was at 6.

So our tired guys played their fresh ones and creamed them to such a degree that I was hoping they'd let them make a few more points just out of mercy.

I am not much of a basketball game watcher and saw my first-ever "real" high school game only last year. But this game yesterday was fun to watch because. . . . MY BOYS WERE AMAZING.

Ben is not a flamboyant player; he is just there, at the right place at the right time. And he kept making shots. Never mind that the tension about gave me heart failure every time the ball was in the air, but time after time they went through.

Steven is fun to watch because he moves like he was born to move. You know how most guys his age look like a conglomeration of elbows and knees trying to get to the same place at the same time? Not him. He is smooooth. And when he jumps for a ball you gasp because surely you didn't see that much space under him, it's impossible.

Next week I get to watch my boys in action again, at the ACE regional convention in Newberg. It won't just be basketball, though. Both are singing and doing track events and I think Pace Bowl and Bible Bowl. Ben is reciting a famous speech and entering two project displays, one on the health care bill and one on the best conditions for sprouting grass seed. Steven has entered a photo and a fiction story. And I think I'm forgetting a few events.

So we have been listening endlessly to Ben at the piano dinging the same notes over and over and trying to get the bass part right. "What should I gain from his re-ward. . . (clonk). . .ward. . .(clonk). . .ward. . ." And we've been trying to get Steven to actually work out rather than try to skate through the athletic events on charm and luck, which is how he generally gets through life, I might add.

If I have ulcers by the end of next week it will be because few things tie me up in knots like watching my children compete. Up there in front of everybody, their fate hanging in the air--I can't describe that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

But when they do well--oh my--I feel like every inch of me, down to fingertips and toes, is literally bursting with pride. And I want to yell, "HEY, THOSE BOYS ARE MINE!!"

Quote of the Day:
"I think it's a concussion. If a kid's eyes look funny and he doesn't know what day it is, it's probably a concussion."
--the dad of the kid that Steven knocked over on his way up on one of his famous jumps. Rita and I thought the dad was overreacting slightly, because the kid seemed coherent, but in pain. And when I apologized on behalf of Steven the boy said bravely, "It's ok, these things happen." Meanwhile, a note to all of you: if I ever have a head injury, don't ask me what day it is. I never know what day it is at the best of times.