Sunday night, we were watching the baseball highlights. During the highlights of the Twins’ 18-inning loss to Oakland, Stacey made me pause the TiVo. The Twins had just pulled to within one run on a two-run homer by Justin Morneau in the bottom of the 18th, and the camera panned across the crowd. In the foreground of the shot, a boy with a ball glove and a Twins cap was leaping up and down in front of his seat, pumping his arms in the air and screaming.
What had caught Stacey’s eye, though, wasn’t the cheering boy, but his mom, visible over his shoulder. She was leaning forward, chin resting on a hand, gazing a bit bleary-eyed at the field. The full weight of 18 innings of baseball and nearly five hours of stale Metrodome air was clearly visible.
But tired or not, she was there. And so was her son. She was the heroic opposite of that mom I saw at Comiskey in July. I bet if the Twins had tied the game, she would have sighed, ordered a beer, and smiled indulgently as impish little Dakota continued to scream his lungs out. I bet she wouldn’t even use her cell phone to tell her husband how long to microwave the tuna casserole, since she’d be having dinner–and maybe breakfast–at the ballpark. Or if she felt she had to call in, she’d do it discreetly, between innings.
Given that my own mother is out of the running, because that wouldn’t be fair, I hereby nominate that mom for mom of the year.
thatbob: Maybe you ought to write letters to the Star Tribune, Pioneer Press, Catholic Spirit, Prensa Minnesota, and several other area papers. Some recognition is probably just what she needs.