|Henry is Number 10|
My baseball Saturdays have now officially become lacrosse Saturdays.
I watched Henry play two games of lacrosse today in two different locations for a total of three hours game time, 2 hours of pre-game warm-up and another hour of driving. The first game was a high school game, and Reader, it was intense. Henry's team played a high school that is known for its football team (I believe one of the best in the nation?), and a few of the lacrosse players (who also play football) had tattoos. I'm not sure what strange karma I'm acting out by being the decidedly unathletic and disinterested mother to a kid who at one point nearly knocked heads with another over something illegal or another, but I acted nonchalant while I died inside. A fellow parent whom I vaguely remember from flag football days, at least six years ago (when the boys had neither hair on their legs nor tattoos), as a screaming type of coach-father, nodded at the posturing of the two boys, and when I asked him what the problem was, he said, Testosterone. Good for Henry. I never know what the hell is going on on the field, so I nodded my head, but in my mind they were roosters with their chests puffed up. Don't worry, though, Reader. I refrained from using my words, at least those words that I am quite skilled at using, and I shed all metaphors and stood up occasionally to shout strong and admonitory verbs. Karma is a bitch.
At the second game, I believe my son was actually thrown out of the game toward the end for yelling something or other at the ref, but how would I know what the true story was as I was finishing another chapter of The Luminaries in my car.