Markers of Time

The whistle blew and the referee ran over to the scorer's table barking out, "blue three two," my son Brendan's number. Then the head scorer at the table raised his hand, all five fingers stretched out indicating Brendan had fouled out mid-way through the third period. Multiple whistles blew and Brendan began to walk off the court, shoulders slouched and disappointment written all over his face....his final high school game. It was a hard way to end his high school sports career--down by more than 20 points, fouling out, shots weren't sinking, and playing far from his home court.

We knew the day would come when this chapter in his, and our lives would come. What I wasn't prepared for was how hard it would be to hold back the tears. Perched in the top row of the tiny gym at Parkway Christian Academy, the last thing I wanted to do was embarrass Brendan, or me by letting the faucet flow.

I wanted to stand up and cheer; I wanted to go over to the bench and hug him; I wanted to tell him it wasn't all defined by this one moment. Any one of those responses would have drawn the scorn of a mortified young man. No, I put my game face on and when the parent in front of me kindly commented, "Without him this game is over" I simply smiled and suggested the team might still pull it off when every part of me wanted to scream, "This is harder than I thought it would be."

One more step toward independence. One more marker of time. One more "good-bye" in a year filled with "good-byes."

In the car on the way home I sat in the back so Brendan could dissect the game with Malcolm if he wanted. Silence escorted us most of the 90 minute ride home. At one point I patted his shoulder, "Thank you for putting yourself out there and playing your heart out all of these years. I am proud of you and have loved watching you play." "Uh huh." Was his only response.

Brendan walked into Chick-Fil-A to attempt to fill that endless pit called, "teenage male stomach" and I squeeked from the backseat, "I just want to cry and cry and cry." Malcolm reached back for my hand, "Go ahead and cry baby." And I did, but when I saw Brendan lumbering out of restaurant I wiped the tears away and felt grateful for the darkness of night.

Another step toward independence for Brendan. Another step toward a new chapter for Malcolm and me.