Whoo Whoo!

As I said yesterday, I want to spend the next few days sharing memories about my mom, good memories...

You may find it surprising that at 6'6" tall I played basketball. Okay, maybe that isn't surprising, ha ha... But what may actually surprise you is that I did not like basketball... for a long time.

When I was young, probably second or third grade I had already been targeted as a ball player. I am sure that had nothing to do with the fact that I was taller than both my second and third grade teachers. I think it was third grade... when my parents, probably Dad, decided I was going to play basketball through the rec department. Our family friend, Kenny, was the coach if I remember correctly. I don't remember specific games or playing at that age, except I remember one of the gyms I played in that was poorly lit and had rubber floors. I remember not liking it and while I finished the season, had no interest in playing again, ever.

In junior high, 7th grade, many of my friends were going to try out for basketball and told me I should try out too. I told them they were nuts. I wanted to be on the team with them but didn't want to play. So I showed up at the first try out session and the coach asked me why I wasn't changed up, into shorts and sneakers. I told her I wanted to be the manager. She looked up at me (I was 5'11 at that age) and basically told me there was no way I was going to manage her team, but that I would play.

I made the team... or I should say, my height made the team. I was AWFUL. Awful! My coach soon realized that I didn't have a lot of skill with basketball and my job usually involved defense. I was told to stand in the middle of the basket, put my arms over my head and scare the other team. It worked, usually. I suppose I improved a little over the season, eventually being able to make a lay up in warm ups and eventually scored a basket. My parents came to every basketball game I ever played form third grade through high school, except one. My mom had bronchitis and was so sick she had to stay home from the game in 7th grade where we played against Lee (the next town over) and where I scored my first points! Mom was so upset that she missed the game and missed my first ever basket, a fact about which she often lamented.

At the end of 7th grade our team had a tradition, a mother daughter basketball game. My mom, being the good sport that she was, agreed to play. Her skills were worse than mine, but she tried to make up for it with enthusiasm and silliness... She started out strong in the game, running around, often with her tongue out.. which she would often do when she was concentrating... and as she ran her... well endowed chest was... well out of control.. and it didn't take long before Mom sat on the bench and asked my coach to be my adoptive mother for the game. It was funny and became the source of Mom's stories she liked to tell to make people laugh.

I played basketball again in 8th grade and did better... I got to play offense and defense...but was still told to scare the other team. That was the year I earned the nickname, "Holy Sh*t." The reason being, that at 6 feet tall, whenever I walked into the gym, the opposing team and parents would say, "Holy Sh*t!" Mom got a kick out of that, and when she told that story it was often accompanied by one of her knee slaps as she cracked herself up.

In high school, as a freshman, I was not chosen for the varsity team... thankfully. Instead I was on the JV team and had an AMAZING coach. (Who in recent years has become a colleague, running into him often at sporting events where I was coaching.) I would often get to practice early and stay late working with my coach on the basic skills I had never acquired. As my skills improved, my confidence improved. The coach didn't play me for long periods of time until my mother convinced him that my really red face was normal and did not mean that I was about to pass out. My face gets very red when I exercise, always has, always will. That was the year I became a ball player. Again, my parents were in the stands for every game.

I continued playing basketball through high school and improved every year. As I got better my playing time got better and my mother got her own nickname.... My parents kind of became seen as the team's parents, because they were at every game, home and away. My teammates liked knowing that they would be in the stands and Mom and Dad looked out for all of us... My team quickly recognized my mother as the cheerleader for each and every one of us... and my mother was... well... LOUD! She would yell, scream really... but she wouldn't yell phrases, like "Go Girls!" or "Defense!," nope, MY mother would yell, "Whoo whoo whoo whoo!" over and over and over... in a higher pitched tone... and could be a little annoying.. BUT... the team loved it because they could ALWAYS hear my mom cheering for them and they knew it was their mom, their team mom... so... she became "The Whoo Whoo Lady!"

My parents were great parents... My dad is still a great parent... and when my sister and I were at home, our house was often the gathering spot for us and our friends. It was common for our friends to refer to our parents as Mom and Dad... and Mom and Dad loved it.

It is fun to think about my mom, about these kinds of memories... it triggers other memories.. the face my mom made while playing basketball, sticking her tongue out and to the side of her mouth as she concentrated... used to make me laugh... I was telling Matt tonight about my Mom playing the boxing video game on the Wii and she was making that face the entire time... along with some funny noises and gestures. THAT was a funny thing to see.

My mom was such a good sport, such a good cheerleader for me, always supporting me in what I wanted to do. And... she was a ham... plain and simple... totally liked making people laugh, even if it was at her own expense. I think that was one of the things my dad found endearing about my mom, but at the same time made him shake his head and wonder who this crazy woman in front of him was... and I think it made him love her even more.

Mom, you gave me many gifts... including your ability to laugh at yourself...and BE yourself...thank you for that.