Yes, I accept it. I’m fickle. Emotional. Changeable. Whatever you want to call it.
This is Dave’s third year in hockey. His brother takes him 90% of the time to practices so I have plenty of help. I go to all the games. One kid. I’ve always been grateful that he never asked to try out for a travel team or a spring league. It’s expensive, time-consuming, and a very long season as it is.
Til this year. His coach asked if he wanted to try out for the “select team”. Didn’t realize that meant travel team. ANOTHER $350. He was asked. How can I say no? My step-son tells me if he makes it, he is just too burned out to take him five times a week to the rink so I will have to step up. How can I say no?
My dad stresses me out. He calls and asks “Is this going to cost more money?” I say yes, but don’t tell him how much. He asks if we are going to have to drive a lot further and more often. I say yes and cringe. “How are you possibly going to do that?” I tell dad that we just need to see if he even gets selected. Then I will see who else gets picked. There are two families I know that would help manage transportation if their kids get picked too. I am irritated at my dad. My son lost his dad. How can I say no? But deep down, I know he’s right. It will stretch us in every way imaginable.
Inside, I am praying he doesn’t get in. That way I don’t have to make the decision. Too much money, time, stress. But how can I say no? He tries out Sunday and we are supposed to find out Wednesday. He gets ready for school and tells me I need to let him know the second I find anything out. I prepare him that even if he gets in, we have a big decision to make. He says he understands, but how could I really tell him no?
I have to work most of the evening. I come home, greeted by my step-son. He informs me that Dave didn’t get picked. He said he was taking it very well and had a friend over to play so that was helping. Wow, prayer answered. I don’t have to say no and feel like the bad guy. I don’t have to say yes and stress us all out in every way. Phew, right?
No, I cry instead. I’m so sad for him. Then I’m mad. Those asses. Obviously they don’t know a great skater when they see one. Dave handles it much better than I do.
Fickle, I admit it.