Just Another Soccer Mom

I spent ANOTHER cold evening watching Ty play soccer this evening. Well, I was supposed to be watching but my mind was elsewhere.  To be more specific, my mind was anywhere but on the soccer game.

Mostly I was too busy people-watching.  I was amazed at how many familiar faces I saw.  Granted I know I live in a itty-bitty town and I see the people I grew up with every time I run to the grocery store.  Yet for some reason this felt different.  

I was watching a mother and son as they got ready for the game. She was straightening his socks and sending him out on the field.  I'm not sure if it was a particular mannerism or just the expression on her face that caught my attention, but I suddenly realized "Hey! I know her. We took several art classes together. I didn't realize she had a child this age."

After that, it dawned upon me, that for 6 of the 7 (other) players on Ty's team, I had a childhood relationship with at least one of the parents.  Then I realized that I knew most of the parents on the team we were playing against.  Maybe not well, but I remember their faces in the hallways at school.  This revelation continued as I observed the other two games going on near our field.  It was actually ridiculous to realize that I knew (at least vaguely) 85% of the children's parents.

To me the sad part wasn't that I hadn't realized that any of these people had children the same age (or near) mine.

What saddened me was that I felt like such a statistic. Just another soccer mom.  No one special. Only another face in the dark.

Now don't ask me why.  I don't know why that made me sad.  Maybe it was because it's October and my S.A.D. is already rolling in.  Maybe it was because my sugar level was low due to having to rush to the soccer field after work with no dinner.  Maybe it was because I was surprised to find myself no different from the multitudes of people I grew up with.  Same place. Same Life.

So I just sat there and continued to do a mental roll call.

When I glanced back at the soccer game, it was just in time to see Ty go down in a flash mob of little people.  Layer by layer, the coaches pulled the players up and out of the heap. As they neared the bottom, I saw his coach help him up and she was checking out his face. I saw his coach nod toward the bench and him nod back. As he sprinted across the field with a red mark on his chin that was already beginning to bruise, I could see he was fighting with everything he could muster not to cry.

What unfolded may not have amazed anyone but me, but it definitely amazed me.

Ty ran straight across the field.

Past the bench.

Past his Dad.

Past his Lilly.

Past his Nana.

Past his Pa.

He ran straight to me.

ME!

My beautiful, red/bruised chin little boy ran straight to my arms, climbed on my lap, buried his head and cried.

It was at that wonderful moment that I realized that I wasn't just another face in the crowd. That I didn't have the same life as everyone else.

I was holding My Life in my lap while he cried.