Moms of Boys
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Three boy-related columns Sharon wrote
The Suit
by Sharon O'Donnell , in 2008
"Mom, I have to wear a suit to school tomorrow," my 13-year-old, David, informed about 11:00 one night last month. He and I had just gone through a few hours of studying for his science test the next day on natural selection, about how species adapt in order to survive.
"What?" I replied groggily, lifting my head from my pillow where I had fallen asleep, exhausted, still in my clothes, stretched across the entire bed since my husband was out of town.
"The basketball team dresses in shirts and ties for home games," he reminded me. It was the first game of the season for his middle school team, and the game day dress code had slipped my mind.
I sighed loudly. "Don't your khaki pants still fit you?" I asked, my tired eyes pleading with him to say ‘yes'.
"They're too short." He stood at the door to my bedroom, looking forlorn. "And I can't tie a tie, remember?"
Perfect. My husband Kevin wasn't home, and nobody else, including me, David, and my 16-year-old son, Billy, could tie a tie correctly. I groaned. "Can't you find one of those clip-on ones?"
David shook his head. "Mom, they look weird." I looked at him, realizing he'd grown quite a bit since 14 months ago when he last had to wear a suit at my niece's wedding. They only make those clip-on ties just so long, and I bet even the longest one we had would indeed look pretty strange on David now. He usually wore a collared Izod or Polo shirt to church, so I hadn't noticed he'd outgrown the ties. And probably the dress shirts, too.
A decade of Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts and knot-tying and yet neither one of them could tie a darn tie???? Sure, maybe they could tie a rope around a tree and throw it out to rescue someone in the water, but they couldn't tie a tie neat enough to wear in public. Neither could I, but that was one thing I thought Kevin could take care of for the guys. I thought briefly of him sleeping soundly in his hotel room.
Surely there were some hand-me-downs from Billy around somewhere in some box in some closet or some garage loft. I dragged myself off the bed and went in Billy's room where I opened the loft door behind his bedroom door. This area was the only storage area in our entire house, and was unlit and cold, floored in with only cheap plywood. Yes, searching for hand-me-downs in the incorrectly marked plastic boxes was actually a death-defying feat at my house. I sighed. "Where is a flashlight that works?" Ten minutes later we finally found one in the garage behind the garbage cans. I got down on all fours and climbed feet-first into the dark, square-shaped hole. "I'm going in," I whispered bravely to Billy and David.
Ten minutes later, I emerged from the loft with nothing to show for my troubles. I could find another size 18 suit, but not the size 20, which David needed. Somehow there was a gap in the hand-me-down supply. I knew the size 20 suit was probably somewhere in our house, but where, I had no idea.
I checked my watch and saw it was 11:20. I knew what I had to do. Kohl's was open until midnight, thanks to the holiday hours, so off I went to buy some pants, a shirt, and a tie. Searching wildly for these items, I raced through the young men's department, finally settling for a pair of black pants, a shirt that was probably too small, and a regular tie because I couldn't find any long clip-on ones.
As the teenaged boy working the cash register rang up the items, there was an announcement that it was closing time. I realized then I was the only customer in the entire store. I'm sure they wanted to hurry and get me out of there so they could close up. As he put the tie in the bag, I asked sheepishly, "Do you know how to tie one of those?"
"Sure," he said, nodding.
"Uhm," I stammered, embarrassed by my question. "Well, could you tie it for me," I asked. Then I explained to him my predicament, and he laughed. He asked me how tall David was and then tied a perfect knot in the tie. I carried it to the car carefully, painstakingly so as not to mess it up, like it was a precious treasure or a bomb I didn't want to explode.
The next morning, David went off to school dressed appropriately, thank God (and the guy at Kohl's). A few weeks later I found a marvelous thing while shopping at Crabtree one day: zippered ties in all lengths. Thinking of my three sons, I looked at the sales clerk and said firmly, "I'll take ten."
The Good Guys & The Bad Guys
by Sharon O'Donnell
The ‘good guys versus bad guys' story line is an age-old theme of many TV shows and movies - one that has been depicted for generations. Unfortunately, violence is usually a part of this story line.
Gun shoot-outs, bombs exploding, & kung fu fighting are all ways the good guys and bad guys battle it out. I cringe when one of my boys aims a water gun or toy laser at someone. I think of the studies that show how watching TV violence can make children more aggressive, and I immediately feel guilty about having allowed my sons to watch "Power Rangers" when they were young and movies like "Die Hard" when they became older.
Honestly, though, I don't see any difference in the "Power Ranger" characters and the old Batman shows of thirty years ago - POW! ZAP! ZOWIE! I remember my brother watching that show every week and nobody worried he'd become an ax murderer (which, incidentally, he is not). The Ranger shows Billy and David used to watch included messages at the beginning about loyalty, being kind to others, and telling the truth. Of course, then they kick the crap out of somebody. Still, there is an effort to balance the imaginative things (zapping a giant pig who hates Mexican food with a laser - now that's just too scary for words) with reality.
I've eavesdropped on my children and their friends playing sometimes and hear nothing more than them pretending to be heroes, to defeat the bad guys and save the world. Just active imaginations at work. The experts say boys will make a gun out of anything, and I believe them. Despite all of this, I've known some moms who thought Power Rangers were absolutely awful and forbade their sons to watch or act out the show - some that now say they realize they overreacted.
Yet the studies do bother me, especially in light of the increase in school violence. But the blame for that has to be placed on much more than kids' television shows. I know these studies have a valid point, but I don't think parents should overreact to them, either. I heard of one lady who refused to open her door to Power Rangers at Halloween. Come on now. The little fellows just want some Skittles and Reese Cups; they're not on her doorstep plotting to take over the world.
When Billy was four, he was selecting which book he wanted me to read to him at bedtime-always a time consuming decision. I was exhausted after finally getting his baby brother to sleep and didn't feel much like reading. Not the newspaper, not Cosmopolitan, and certainly not "Fox on Sox" or "Hop on Pop". Exhausted moms who have to read sixty page rhyming books out loud are just one step from going over the edge. I also didn't want to have to plow through the children's equivalent of "War and Peace" so whenever Billy picked out a really long one, I would veto it by saying "Oh no, not that one."
That night he picked out one of his favorite Power Rangers books. I thought of the article I'd just read in the newspaper about violence and its effect on children. I thought of overhearing some of my friends talking at church about how Power Rangers were so bad for kids and they wouldn't allow their children to watch it.
Hell, Billy had the Blue Ranger costume, matching gloves, and was a charter member of their fan club - a fact we had to hide from the anti-Power Rangers moms. I feared he'd be ostracized at pre-school, never to recover from such an obvious slight, well on his way to becoming a high school recluse who didn't go to the prom.
Guilt engulfed me. "No Power Rangers book tonight, Billy," I told him. "Why don't you pick out another one and we'll read this tomorrow."
"Why can't we read it now, Mom?" he asked. I explained that there was a lot of karate fighting in the book and that I didn't want him to have nightmares. He assured me he wouldn't.
Yet, I remained firm in my decision. "There's just too much fighting in it, Billy."
"But the bad guys always lose," he protested. I shook my head and pointed to the bookshelf. With his best sad face, he put the book up. He contemplated his choice for a minute, then picked his new Bible story book instead. I thought he'd probably choose to read the Christmas story about baby Jesus, since that was his favorite; but, he flipped through the pages, thoughtfully. He stopped on one picture of Abraham and his son, Isaac.
"I wanna read this one," he said. We nestled back on the pillow together, and I started reading robotically, not really paying attention to the words because I was tired: "God wanted to test Abraham's faith so he told him to go to the top of a mountain and offer his young son Isaac as a sacrifice. So Abraham saddled his donkey -"
"Mom," Billy interrupted, "what's sacrifice mean?"
I paused, searching for the words to explain the concept in a simple way. "Well, it's like giving up one thing you really want for something else." He nodded and seemed satisfied with my answer so I continued to read. "They went up the mountain and Abraham built a fire." I read slower as I remembered what came next. I glanced at Billy, uncomfortable. "Then he took Isaac and . . ."
My voice trailed off. I closed the Bible, reached over and tousled Billy's thick hair playfully. "Tell ya what, buddy, let's read that Power Ranger book after all."
Billy bounced off the bed yelling "Yippee!" as he raced to his bookshelf.
The Power Ranger book we read that night was a tame, innocent one about a group of teenagers who morph into super heroes and protect the earth from evil aliens by using karate and robotic fighting machines called zords. And the good guys won.
The Bible story has a happy ending, too, with God stopping Abraham from sacrificing his son. I remember hearing this story when I was a kid and I would act it out in my mind with God's voice booming, "Don't harm the boy." (For some reason, don't ask me why, but the voice was always that of Bob Barker while Andy Griffith played the part of Abraham and Opie was Isaac.)
And just for the record, in my opinion, Leo of Power Rangers Galaxy was the cutest Power Ranger; there are some advantages to watching all those shows with the boys.
Glass Half Empty
By Sharon O'Donnell
As soon as my husband and I started dating, I learned one thing quickly: It's not easy being an optimist in a Red Sox fan's world. The age-old question, "Is the glass half empty or half full?" divides people into two different groups: those who have a pessimistic outlook (think Eyore in Winnie the Pooh) and those that have an optimistic ‘things will work out' attitude (think Elmo from Sesame Street).
I firmly believe that my husband Kevin's pessimism can be traced back to his being a life-long Boston Red Sox baseball fan. His parents are from the Boston area, and he grew up cheering for and idolizing Carl Yastremski. Red Sox fans are known to be long-suffering because of the drought the team had in not winning a World Series (from 1918 until 2004), despite coming painfully close several times.
Some said this ‘curse' began when the Sox traded Babe Ruth to the Yankees in 1920 - the curse of the Bambino. I'm familiar with this ‘curse' and the continual suffering of loyal Red Sox fans. Kevin's always said, "The Red Sox give you hope and then they break your heart."
When we were dating in 1986, Boston was in the World Series against the New York Mets. Kevin and I were watching game six, which if the Sox won, would also mean they would win the coveted Series. The tension was palpable as we sat there on the couch; I knew not to talk unless spoken to. In the bottom of the 10th inning, the Sox were up 5-4, and it looked as if Boston might finally win it all. Boston fans everywhere were holding their breath.
Then the unthinkable happened. Boston was within one strike of winning the World Series. One strike. But a wild pitch brought in the tying run for New York. Still one strike away. Another pitch. Crack! The ball rolled along the ground toward the first baseman who could scoop it up and get the last out. Instead, the ball rolled between his legs, allowing the winning run to score. My husband was a zombie after that game. The Mets went on to win the 7th game and the 1986 World Series.
Kevin has always been overly-worried about job stability as well as personal finances. When I found out I was pregnant with Jason, he was more concerned about having enough money for college than enjoying the moment. I first noticed Kevin's ‘Red Sox mentality' affecting things in his life besides baseball when he and I went with one of his friends to an N.C. State football game. It was against South Carolina, and it was a close game. I can't remember the details, but State had the ball with a minute of so left to play, needing to score a touchdown to win. Things didn't look good, and Kevin said, "Let's go." His friend was ready to go, too.
I refused to budge. "State still has a chance," I told them, "and we're going to stay and support our team." They thought I was crazy, but I talked them into staying, even though they acted all glum about it. State was running out of time, and it looked like South Carolina would pull it out. But on the last play, the quarterback passed into the end zone, and one of the State receivers caught it with no time left on the clock. State had won after all. All three of us were jumping up and down deliriously just like the rest of the crowd. I kept saying, "Aren't you glad we stayed?"
Sometimes you can't experience some of life's joyful moments if you always expect the worst and act accordingly. There was one time last year when we were all watching a Red Sox game on TV. When the Sox fell behind, Kevin went to bed, sure they were going to lose. The boys and I stayed up and watched it, pulling for our team, hoping some big plays would come. Sure enough, the Sox pulled it out in the end in an exciting finish. Kevin missed it because of his doom and gloom attitude. The boys had such fun the next morning telling their dad what a super come-from-behind victory he'd missed. Hope is a beautiful thing, and if you don't have that in sports or in life, it will negatively affect you.
In 2003, after the Yankees beat Boston with a walk-off homerun in the 7th game to go on to the World Series, Billy and David sat on the couch as if in a trance, in total disbelief. Then they quickly turned off the TV so they would not see even a glimpse of the Yankees celebrating. They went off to bed with long faces and sad eyes, knowing full well that sleep would not come easy. The next morning, I literally had to pull them out of bed. They had me throw the sports page away before they came downstairs because they did not want to see the headline.
"They're heartbroken," Kevin said. "Now they're true Red Sox fans." It took them weeks to get back to normal.
Even when the Red Sox are winning, Kevin can't thoroughly enjoy watching the game because he's waiting and expecting something bad to happen. During the Red Sox' famous run to the World Series title in 2004, I wanted my sons to have hope and to not give up when things got tough for the team against the Yankees, falling behind 3 games to 0 with the Yankees needing just one more game to win the division championship and go on to the World Series. I wanted my boys to be optimistic people in general and in sports, particularly in a playoff series as challenging and inspiring as this one was. So when Kevin showed his true ‘glass half empty' colors during the games, I was determined not to have the boys start thinking the same way.
"I feel like Ortiz is going to get a homerun this time," I'd say, as the big guy got up to bat. Or "Mueller's gonna get a double." Odds were against them, but the Sox finally won in a heart-stopping series, leaving us breathless and ecstatic.
Kevin took Billy out that night after the last game against the Yankees, capping the biggest comeback in sports history and sending the Sox into the World Series against St. Louis. They wore their Boston shirts to a bar and ate chicken wings sometime after midnight, but I was glad to see them go. After all the years of being a pessimistic Sox fan, Kevin could share a moment of triumph with his son.
I was incredibly glad the Sox beat the Yankees in such an unlikely fashion not just because I was a big fan, but because I wanted my sons to see that optimism is a virtue in pulling for a team or in achieving what you want in life.
When the team beat the Cardinals in four games to win the Series for the first time in 86 years, Kevin said, "This is better than '86 would have been. This time I get to celebrate with my sons."
And I hope as our sons remember Boston's improbable run to the championship, they understand the roles that hope and perseverance played in those victories and that they apply it in their own lives. Those nights we stayed up together into the early morning hours to watch those nail-biting games during Boston's comeback run will be etched in the boys' minds forever. Mine, too.
And the Sox proved why it's important to have a ‘glass half full' attitude on the field and in life and that ‘curses' are only as strong as we let them be.
