A Boy's Rite of Passage Begins

Tuesday, I was at my desk labouring over cost sheets that needed to be modified because of unexpected increases in raw materials when my mobile rang. I wasn't in the best of moods and since I didn't recognize the number, I fully expected there to be a telemarketer on the other end. As I answered, I shrugged on my superbitch persona and prepared to take out my daily frustrations on the schmuck who had the misfortune to call.

"This is Beth", I said.

"May I speak with Mrs. J", he said.

"Yes, that's me. What are you selling", I asked in clipped, impatient, Nazi tones.

There was a short pause, an audible intake of breath and I smiled, thinking that the telemarketer had to know at this point that an unpleasant experience was at hand.

"This is Tom from the Boys and Girls Club. Is your boy still interested in playing football this year?" And people, this man was all southern charm and respect. I scrambled to dislodge my shoe from the back of my throat.

After apologizing profusely and giving him an overly long explanation about telemarketing and spam calls and how I really wish I had a bullhorn to blow every time I received one and nodding furiously on the other end of the line even though I knew he couldn't see me, I took a breath and told him that yes, Dylan would be thrilled to get on a team.

He instructed me to bring him by on Wednesday afternoon to sign him up.

Then, I called my ex because Wednesdays are the day that he picks the children up from school and takes them to some fast food joint to fill them full of 1500 garbage, artery clogging calories dinner.

I explained to him that Dylan got into football so please don't fetch him from school on Wednesday as I would be taking him to get signed up and then on to the sports store to outfit him with proper equipment. His reply?

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR ANY EQUIPMENT!!! I PAY A SHIT TON OF CHILD SUPPORT AND THAT MONEY INCLUDES STUFF LIKE THIS!"

How does one respond to that? Well, I suppose a more mature person would have calmly allowed the irrational blow up and then have reasoned with him in a gentle, measured manner. Sadly, I am not that person.

Instead, I spat out a paragraph laced with four letter words, detailing his failings as a human being and then I hung up on him before he had a chance to reply. Like I said, I am FLAWED.

Anyway, yesterday, after we had signed all of the papers, Dylan and I made our way over to the sports store to get pants, pads, a mouth guard, a chin strap, a practice jersey, cleats and a helmet. My ex showed up, which I thought might be a positive thing but alas, he was true to form. When it came time to pay, you could have run a car on the vapours my ex left behind as he fled from the store.

$175.00

Dylan's eyes widened as I handed over my bank card.

"Thank you, Mum", he whispered. And the child meant it.

"You're welcome sweetie." I said, giving him a hug. "You understand that quitting won't be an option, right?"

And with that, I officially became a southern, football mother.