I Do That

When I was in college, I came home one weekend and visited my high school for a football game.  It was a cool evening, but comfortable.  Not one of those shiver-in-your-seats-as-you-suffer-through-the-misery-of-high-school-sports kind of nights.  Even still, I probably would not have gone were it not that my parents had the tradition of attending home games whenever possible.  So, I joined them, along with a friend who I'd brought home with me.

The memorable event of the night was a long run.  The kind that starts at your own 30 yard line and keeps going... and going... and going.  The kid dodged opponents.  He stumbled, but kept running.

The crowd grew louder with excitement, anticipation.  We sensed what was coming as he crossed midfield, maneuvering into enemy territory.  He kept going.... to the 40.... the 30...  and suddenly...

An obnoxious thundering came -- shaking the stands, interrupting my natural heartbeat.  But it wasn't in the sky.  There was no rain threatening this remarkable play.

The disruption to my attention came from my mom, sitting next to me, pounding her feet with fury on the bleachers.  She accompanied the footwork with hoots, "wooooooo"ing her team toward the goal.  It was a surprising moment, having come out of nowhere, just like the play itself.

Eyes wide, I turned to my friend to see a similar reaction from her.  We looked back at my mom as the play wound down, questioning looks covering our faces.

"I do that," she informed us.

Shock remained for another second or two until my 20-year-old self burst into happy laughter.  My friend joined me, understanding the subtle humor in the situation.  And I have never forgotten that night.

I admire my mom for that moment of confidence, doing what she wanted to do to support her team, regardless of the response she got.    When questioned, she didn't apologize for the inconvenience.  She stood her ground and let me know, "I do that."

She had invited me into her world, brought me along for the fun, and expected me to accept it how it was.  This is not to say that she was the kind of person to never want to change or to better herself.  She was always doing that, by the grace of God.  But this was something that need not be changed, yet was questioned by someone.  Why should she apologize for who she was or doing things that brought her joy?

There are things that I have been made for.  Things that are important to me and may or may not be what others want to see in me.  And I ask myself, "Who do I do this for?"

This is a new blog.  It may not last.  I've tried this before, but a common link through previous attempts is that I have tried to provide something for someone else.  I have tried to join the mommy bloggers, the social justice bloggers, the do-it-yourself/how-to bloggers.  Today, I begin by inviting you into my world ... un-apologetically ... to experience what I do.

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