Kneepads

I apologized to my mom (Gladys) the other night that she was not a more prominent figure in my writing. Mom is just too normal and well-adjusted to be an entertaining and compelling figure in my stories. If she were quirky and odd she might get more playing time. Thus it is that all too many of these stories are about my dad, or me, or my kids putting up with me. I have the good sense to never, ever, write something about my wife Jean, who is the model spouse, mother, and grandmother, and also have the good sense to suck up shamelessly, as I just did.

BK, which stands for “Before Kids”, Jean was teaching at Avondale High School. When my folks came down to visit we took them to a high school wrestling meet for entertainment. We were too poor, and I was too cheap, to do anything more expensive than that at the time. Jean and I had been married for a year or two at most.

I was quite full of myself at the time. We were married, we had a respectable house, we both had jobs, and I was a “mature” man of 28, or so I thought. When we went to the wrestling meet I decided that I was, at long last, psychologically tough enough to sit with my father. My father had a long history of behavior that was embarrassing to me. I decided those days were over. I decided I was old enough, mature enough, confident and self-assured enough, to sit with my father and watch the wrestling meet as fellow fans. Jean and my mom, remembering history, had the good sense to sit a couple of rows behind and to the side of us.

We were sitting in the stands, watching the meet, cheering and yelling out advice to the wrestlers along with the other spectators, advice which was summarily ignored or not heard at all. Midway through the meet, during a particularly boring match, the two wrestlers went out of bounds as they often do, and the referee stopped the match to move the wrestlers back to the center of the mat.

As the wrestlers made their way back to the center of the mat the gym was quiet due to lack of interest and lack of activity in the match. One of the wrestlers was wearing large kneepads which had slipped down to his ankles. I mentioned to Dad that the referee really ought to make the wrestler pull up the kneepads as the opponent would not have a fair chance to grip the ankles with his hands, which is a primary point of attack.

As the wrestlers were settling in to restart the match, and the referee was about to blow the whistle, my dad starts yelling “HEY REF – THE KNEEPADS ARE ON THE ANKLES, HE NEEDS TO PULL THEM UP, IT’S NOT FAIR TO THE MAN ON TOP, MAKE HIM PULL THEM UP REF, MAKE HIM PULL THEM UP”. Dad was relentless. Did I mention loud? Dad was always loud in him most embarrassing moments.

The whole gymnasium heard Dad’s comments, which in fact were mine, and the Ref heard them too. Dad was so loud in the quiet gym that there was no way he could NOT hear them. The Ref hesitated just a moment before blowing the whistle, and instead elaborately put out his arms to stop the match, and instructed the wrestler to pull up his kneepads. The whole gymnasium applauded the Ref’s decision and looked at Dad who was the cause of that decision.

The man sitting next to me turned and said, “Is that your father?”
With a smile I turned and said “I never met the man before in my life.”