Pants On The Ground

I know I said I would have a riveting horse story this week but I don’t. I don’t have a riveting wresting story either, I just have this story.

It’s been a trying time for the boy. He’s had four wresting events in seven days, and when he didn’t have an event, he had practice.

Last night he came home and collapsed on the living room floor, supine (I really use that word, it’s a yoga term) and put his arm over his eyes.

He said, “Mom, I’ve never been so tired in my entire life.”

I felt like I should pick him up and put him to bed but he’s a lot bigger than I am now.

He continues, “I fell asleep in math class. I feel my health slipping away.”

“I feel my health slipping away”…he’s more like me than I thought.

This hurts me, it really does. I don’t know how their arms stay in the socket.

So I said the only thing that could make the whole situation better…”Can I make you something to eat?”

In this moment of his continuing growth and maturity, the only people in his life who can get this much productivity and responsiveness out of the boy are – not his parents – his coaches. I can speak all day about these men, but for now, I’ll just say this – they’re tough.

And it surprises me how different the reaction is when they ask something of the kids as opposed to the reaction their parents get when they ask.

Every request is immediately fulfilled, and fulfilled in not only a timely manner, but in a “I’ll-hop-to-it-immediately Coach” manner. After every match the kids make a united effort to tear down and clean up. I can’t imagine this type of military efficiently in my home.

It’s awe inspiring. And a part of me can’t believe my eyes.

But I have a point about the title of this post. Really. Just setting the stage.

See the boy’s pants? This is a good day. For the last year or more he’s been wearing his pants clear down to his hips, sometimes so low you can see his boxers. Very unsightly, at least to me. So I do what every parent who doesn’t want to see her son’s blooming bloomers on display does, I nag. And I’ve been nagging about this very subject for over a year.

It bothered me so much that I had Santa bring him a belt for Christmas. Which he promptly put on his head. Hey! That’s not where that goes!

So this week, one of the coaches came up behind the boy and pulled up his shirt as he walked alongside of him. The boy said, “Coach, what are you doing?” The coach replied, “I thought since you like to show off your underwear so much, I might as well help everyone see them.”

Then he told the boy that if he didn’t wear a belt the next day he was going to do sprints.

And wouldn’t you know it? He came down the stairs with a belt on the next morning. Harumpf!

I should be offended. After all my requests were not taken seriously and all the coach had to do was threaten to make him run sprints and he got the results he needed. But I’m not offended. I’m grateful…really grateful for now, my boy looks like a nice young man, not a droopy drawered dipstick.

The next day at practice, the Coach had a talk with the boys (and two girls) about having a proper appearance. About how right or wrong, people will judge you on how you look and conduct yourself.

Somehow I don’t think that same speech would have resonated as well coming from me. But I’m putting my pride aside…because now his underwear doesn’t show! I thank God for life’s favors big and small. I’m beginnig to like this wrestling stuff.