Back in middle school, I was eager to join a sports team, despite my complete lack of athletic talent. Tall and uncoordinated, I was always the last one picked for kickball in elementary school. Yet, I craved the sense of belonging that came with being part of a team. As I approached high school, I noticed that kids in sports enjoyed a certain level of popularity, complete with uniforms and pep rallies in their honor.
I decided to try out for volleyball and, to my astonishment, I made the team. The head coach even suggested I be the captain. But hold on—this was the C team, where I was tasked with leading sixth graders who were just as inexperienced as I was. I was a pretty awful captain, lacking the know-how to truly guide the team. My tenure ended without me joining the high school squad.
Fast forward to now, and I find myself back in the chaotic world of youth sports—this time as a mom of four. It’s a whole new level of intensity. Apparently, the unspoken rule is to eat, breathe, and dream about sports.
I observe other parents passionately yelling at referees and their own children as if each call could determine the fate of the universe. Some sport glittery shirts emblazoned with their kids’ names and numbers, while others hold up banners and pom-poms, making enough noise to rival a toddler’s tantrum. There are games, practices, parades, and award ceremonies—it’s all a spectacle that feels completely foreign to me. Growing up, sports were just a game; they weren’t taken that seriously.
Now, as a mom, it seems sports parents take everything very seriously. Yes, my kids have dabbled in various sports—soccer, tennis, martial arts, gymnastics—but it’s been a mix of one-and-done experiences. They tried new activities, and if they didn’t fall head over heels for them, we moved on.
Currently, one of my kids is playing basketball, while another is cheerleading. I’m now a “basketball mom,” though I have no clue what that entails. I still struggle to grasp why certain shots score one point while others are worth three—it’s like magic to me. Cheering is an entirely new ballpark. I had no idea cheer uniforms could be so intricate, complete with leotards, tops, and cheer shoes. I just assumed cheer shoes were basic white sneakers on sale.
What are my responsibilities here? Do I cheer for the cheerleaders, or just sit there and nod? Should I wear a “cheer mom” shirt? I picture myself awkwardly whispering cheers during halftime, unsure of how to behave. It feels like navigating an identity crisis: what’s allowed, what’s not, and where do I fit in?
And then there’s the constant call for volunteers. I can almost hear my internal monologue pleading with coaches to avoid making eye contact with me. My knowledge of sports is very limited—I can barely differentiate between a football and a baseball. I’m not trying to be lazy; I just don’t have a sports gene. I’ve learned the basics, but I often feel overwhelmed and underqualified to help.
I do my best with the little tasks—bringing snacks, though I wonder if carrot sticks and apple slices are too unconventional. I can help adjust sparkly hair bows for cheerleaders and thank coaches without being over the top.
As we gear up for the next few months, our lives are about to revolve around basketball games. One daughter will be on the court, while the other cheers from the sidelines. I can already hear the buzzers and the squeaks of shoes on the court. It sounds silly, but I know that showing up matters to my kids, and I intend to be there, even if I feel out of place.
So, I’ll stick to what I know best: sitting in the stands with snacks, clapping cluelessly, and asking my husband, “What just happened?” I may not be a traditional sports mom, but I will always be a proud mom.
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Summary:
In this lighthearted reflection on the journey of being a non-athletic mom in the world of competitive youth sports, the author navigates her feelings of inadequacy while trying to support her children. From awkward sideline moments to the challenges of understanding sports culture, she embraces her role as a proud parent, even if it doesn’t fit the traditional mold of a “sports mom.”
Keyphrase: sports mom identity
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