By Marla Van Lanen
One day my son Aaron came home from school in sixth grade and announced he was going out for wrestling. I had a limited knowledge of wrestling from my own high school experience as a cheerleader. Attending Southern Door High School, we always had a full squad of wrestlers and were in the same conference as the mighty Spartans of Luxemburg-Casco. What did I remember? The suits they wore, for one. Two guys rolling around on a stinky mat for two. Why would he want to do that? I asked myself. I was soon to enter a world where my life would be changed forever.
Aaron is a charismatic young man who is somehow good at everything he puts his mind to. Wrestling was no exception. He held his own the first year. He also got flattened by supreme wrestlers his own age in tournaments. For someone who is not used to failing, this can be devastating. But within the first year I began to see a mental toughness develop that only this sport can produce. Little muscles also began to pop out of his biceps. That spring he hit the ball farther in baseball and in fall, he showed a determination on the football field that was not there before.
I realized quickly that this is no sport for sissies. (the singlets they wear would make one think different at first glance)
Number one: you are out on the mat all alone. It is six minutes of battle head to head. That takes courage, bravery and guts.
Number two: it takes strength. Try dragging around your own body weight plus the weight of the guy on top of you. No other sport is that physical.
Number three: You have to be able to endure painful contortions of your body. (sometimes this is more painful for the Mother watching than the child enduring)
Number four: Cutting weight. I call it starving. Growing boys love to eat. Mothers are insulted when their sons refuse to eat the plentiful dinners we prepare.
Number five: Moms can’t kiss your boo boos anymore. When he loses, the last thing he wants is my sympathy, no matter how much you want to give it.
Number six: I never new how long 30 seconds can last. Why is it that when your son gets put on his back we immediately look at the clock?
Aaron is now a freshman. Over half of his middle school team mates have dropped out of wrestling. Why? The training is brutal. The schedule, grueling. Only those with a love of the sport and a desire to succeed remain. He is coached by former state qualifiers and champions whose tales of glory are long since forgotten by many, but still retold with such intensity to spurn hope in the minds of these young men.
My wardrobe now consists of the school colored sports shirts adorned, not by jewelry, but the ever popular laminated photo button of a stoney faced lad. (what ever happened to those twinkling eyes and that cute, heart warming smile that I used to see on his pictures!) My Saturdays and Thursday nights are spent sitting long hours on hard, wooden bleachers eating over cooked hot dogs and trying my luck on 50/50 raffles. My traveling companions are my daughter, who once fought relentlessly with her brother, but now talks about his wrestling talent like he holds the moon, and my younger son, Josh, who spends his time teaming up with kids he’s never met to run wild through the field house gyms and spend hours searching for treasures under the bleachers.
My friends are other wrestling moms, decked out in attire similar to mine. They wave when they spot me, and together we endure the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.
Tournaments are a mind boggling rat race of getting there at the crack of dawn to be weighed in then the long drawn out wait for the charts to go up. From there it’s a shoulder to shoulder stampede converging down school hallways to see who is on his chart, or better yet smile at the other wrestler’s reaction when they see he is on theirs. The highlight is the end of the day when you take the photo of your son holding the chart chest high with pride and wearing the 1st place medal around his neck. (but still with the ‘I can’t crack a smile if my life depended on it’ look on his face.)
Aaron and I have a ritual as the final match is nearing. It’s a dialogue we borrow from the movie ‘Vision Quest’.
Mom: “Did you do what you came here to do?”
Aaron: “Not yet”
Mom: “Then finish it.”
It’s our little good luck inspiration. What it means is “I love you with all my heart, win or lose, just do your best.”
What I have come to find out in my experience is that wrestling is more than a sport. More than just competing. It’s about setting personal goals and mentally beating your opponent. I’ve seen wrestlers lose matches before they begin, simply by the psych or persona of their opponent’s reputation. It’s about learning to anticipate the next move. It takes strength, but also balance, leverage, and quickness. It’s about having an arsenal of holds and takedowns, and the ever important secret weapon or signature move. It’s about having the courage to challenge another in a wrestle off, or accept the challenge to defend your spot. It’s about what you choose to do in the six minutes your on the mat. It’s where champions are made and losers go home. It’s where sportsmanship is evident and held with a regard that is seen in no other sport. The sight of two tough competitor’s battle to the end with fierce intensity, then embrace after one wins the match. It’s the honor of having your arm raised by the referee in a symbolic display of superiority.
I will remember and treasure these memories always.
And this is a Mother’s Love.
Wrestling Gear
