She Throws Things

I am not sure I will ever get used to my children being taller than me. When I married their 6’4” father, I knew it would happen one day, but in reality it is the strangest thing. It does not seem like it was that long ago that I was carrying them around on my hip, and now I reach up to hug them. Sometimes I ask them to get things for me from the top shelf even though I have to endure the short jokes that follow. I stopped growing in seventh grade so I have always been short. In softball, I was always second base and second batter, and I bunted a lot. From middle school on I handled the basketball, and in track I attempted the jumps. At my daughter’s softball games, you will find her on third base. She hangs out in the middle of the lineup because she is a power hitter. In basketball, she is a post player, and nobody pushes her around under the basket. I am proud of the way she holds her ground.

When people ask me what she does in track, I always say, “She throws things.”   She loves to throw the shot put and discus, and while I knew she had a lot of success in junior high, I kind of assumed there would be a transitional year or two for her as she moved into varsity. I had always planned on her going to state at some point but I assumed it would be her junior or senior year. Sometimes I am wrong. Her freshman year she started bringing home medals from every meet. About halfway through the season I got online to look at other throwers in our state. Yeah, I’m that mom. I did not mention it to her, but I told her dad, “You know, there is a possibility that she could go to state this year.” And she did. Sometimes I am right. 

I will never forget the moment she stepped up to throw in Jefferson City for the first time. She was petrified, and in all honesty, she was the smallest girl of the sixteen Class 1A finalists. She was all alone out there, and we could not speak to her, as the family must remain in the stands. As the only athlete from her school to qualify for state, she did not even have a friend down there with her. Her dad and I could see it in her face the moment she almost fell to pieces. She started watching how far some of her opponents were launching that shot put, and she started to realize that she was probably not going to make it to the podium. She had never been to a meet in which she did not make the finals. She sat down on a bench down there and her lip started to quiver. Several heartbeats seemed to pass in slow motion as I watched her struggle with her disappointment. And then my child of fifteen years gathered herself and got to her feet to make her final throw. I have never been more proud in all of my life. You see, champions are not people who never lose. Champions are people who never give up. Right now her focus is on school and athletics, but the resilience we saw in her that day will serve her well throughout her entire life. I am so grateful for my seat in the stands.