The Girlfriend: Being A Wrestling Mom Is Hard. Really Hard
In eighth grade, my son Max joined his school’s wrestling team. I was wary. Max, a cellist, and I, a former flute teacher, shared a common language. I didn’t know the vocabulary for ceremonial combat.
At my first meet, I eavesdropped on the more experienced mothers. “Do something interesting,” one called out. What could that be? Isn’t it fascinating enough waiting for the snap that announces a shoulder or neck has been twisted too far?