careful what you wish for…

From the time the Things were small, I had clear expectations for them: do well in school; learn to play a musical instrument (or two, or three), and play a sport. Thing Two? Check, check and check. Thing One? Um…gets good grades, albeit with much procrastination, drama, distraction, avoidance and panic. Now finally plays an instrument: electric guitar. And finally, after bailing on gymnastics, soccer, yada, yada until I’d finally given up, she announces that she has found a sport. She joined the school team. The WRESTLING team. The UNDEFEATED, mostly BOYS middle school wrestling team. That practices 5 days/week, 2-4 hours/day.

Last week we had our first parents meeting with the coach, wherein he shared the expected expectations like maintaining grades, showing up for practice, good sportsmanship, etc. Then there were the things I was NOT prepared for: warnings about how wrestlers are prone to contracting ringworm, scabies and herpes from the mats. Sigh. That injuries are to be expected. Sigh. Broken noses are not uncommon. I took a sidelong look at my beautiful, pristine Thing. Um, I suppose she could break her nose playing soccer. Yeah, I’ll go with that. Thankfully, there are a few other girls on the team, and even one in her weight class to spar with.

It’s been a few weeks now and I’ve grown accustomed to the post-practice debrief. “I almost flipped Bob! But Tim, he had me pinned right away. Jim smashed my nose into the mat, but I held on. We learned the Half Nelson today! I can’t wait to try it on you! Can I try a cross face on Thing Two?” Hang on. Family members are OFF LIMITS.

This weekend they’ll have their first match. Which means Thing One will likely be wrestling a boy, ’cause the other schools aren’t so enlightened. Only this boy will not be a teammate watching out for her. It’s a boy who wants to win. And maybe, um, other stuff. Sigh.

Every evening I watch the Volleyball girls leave the gym in their little short-shorts, knee pads down around their ankles with their perkly sports bags. Then come the wrestlers: dragging in dripping sweatsoaked oversized shirts and baggy pants, their shoes slung over their slumped and aching shoulders. They – girls included – look like cavemen returning from a mastodon hunt.

Oh, and another thing about wrestling? They weigh-in every practice. In front of everyone, all weights clearly announced. She’s tough stuff, that Thing.

And, as you can see from her choice of practice attire, she has a fully developed sense of irony.

Love that Thing.