Montana Momoirs

Here's a link to my column this week. And if you don't want to click through, you can read it in full below:


My son, Mike, is playing basketball through the YMCA this year and he loves it. At practice the other night, he made a perfect basket that just swished right through the net. Later that night at dinner, he was still in awe of this newfound skill. “Did you see my basket, Mom?” he asked repeatedly. “I like basketball so much I’m going to play for the rest of my life!”

But while Mike may love basketball, basketball doesn’t necessarily love him back. The nuances of competitive sports seem to be lost on him. For example, when we told him that he needed to work to get the ball, he tackled his own teammates and tried to wrestle the ball away from them.

And, while he’s supposed to raise his arms up to play defense, Mike likes to pretend that his wristband has superpowers and shoots out lasers, so he spends most of the game waving his wristband in the faces of opposing players. This, as you might imagine, is proving to be a pretty fruitless way to block shots and passes.

But, in spite of Mike’s skill level, he really looks forward to his weekly practice and game. For me, however, Mike’s games can be almost painful to watch. Part of the problem is watching Mike meander slowly down the court, wave his wristband around madly, and head-butt his own teammates to try and get the ball. But the other part of the problem is that I would almost rather saw off my own arm with a dull knife than watch basketball — or any sport for that matter.

Mike, on the other hand, loves all sports. This summer, he discovered baseball. And while he insisted on standing so his entire body faced the pitcher, which meant he basically stabbed at the ball like his bat was a sword, he loved baseball, too. He also loves bowling, which is one of the few sports I sometimes enjoy due to the involvement of beer. And, while I’m pretty content to sit inside all winter, waiting for spring, Mike loves snowshoeing and begs to be driven to ski resorts for downhill skiing every weekend.

But it’s not just Mike’s love of sports that illustrates our differences. Our other interests are also seemingly incompatible. My favorite activities involve bottles of wine, copious amounts of goat cheese, and the New Yorker. But even when I bring it down to a 5-year-old level, Mike and I are still like night and day.

When playing with the kids, I’m much more likely to wile away the time messing around with finger paints for an hour or making a seven-course meal out of Play-Doh. However, Mike is more inclined to make grand announcements like, “Let’s get out my test tubes!” or “Let’s get out the chess set!” or “Let’s play…” he will say with a pause for dramatic effect as he raises his eyebrows, “a math game!”

The downside to the vast gulf that separates us is that our differences are, simply put, our differences. It makes me wonder what the future holds for Mike and me. Will he ever be excited to attend a poetry reading with me? Will we someday travel around Northern California together, sampling wine and trying every restaurant as I did with my own mother? Only time will tell.

For now, however, there is also an upside to our differences. Because being Mike’s mom means that over the past few years, I have learned more about astronomy, NASA, volcanoes, dinosaurs and anthropology than I ever dreamed possible. Who knew that all of this science stuff could be interesting? Prior to Mike’s fascination with space, I couldn’t even name all of the planets. But now I can — and I can even tell you something about each one instead of just making Uranus jokes.

But the very best part of all is that I’m learning with my son, to whom everything is new and exciting. Mike’s enthusiasm — and his interests that are so vastly different from my own — has really helped me to see life through new eyes. His excitement for the world and for trying and learning about new things is contagious. And while I have serious doubts that I’ll ever be able to look forward to a rousing math game or another Saturday morning at the Y, I think I’ll still walk away from these experiences with something really valuable: the simple pleasure of watching Mike learn, explore and have fun.