On the Wagon

I'm on the wagon. Doing the next "right thing" and living one day at a time. No, I haven't joined Alcoholics Anonymous, but the girls who sit with me on the bleachers during our sons' baseball games have become my sponsors. They're right there for me when I want to slip, fall back into my old behavior, my former self from last season, the old self, I mean mom, who is the world's loudest and most efficient cheerleader. My son put me in timeout from yelling for him this season. Under no circumstances am I to yell, "Way to go K-Dog!" or "You were soooo robbed!" No buddy this or buddy that or giving the umps a dirty look when I know they've blown a call. No waves or screaming, "Go, Kennan, it's your birthday," or coming home without a voice. So instead of yelling, I'm drinking. It gives me something to do with my mouth since I can't yell anymore. After just two games, I've had seven diet cokes - at $1 a pop! Feels like I'm trading one addiction for another. Last season I came home from every game without a voice; this year, I've just traded that for a full bladder and an unmistakable case of dehydration. Still, I've bitten my tongue and informed the other moms they're responsible for taking over my cheerleading duties. I don't need to remind them much because my son's name comes over the loudspeaker just like in the big show. And, I must say, they're hanging in and doing a fine job. Kennan walks with me when we leave the ballpark these days. He even gives me a thumbs up or tips his hat when he hustles off the field after a good inning. I think I even saw him smile toward me once. So, this diet coke's for you, Buddy. I mean, Bud, and for all the moms who are "sponsoring" me this season. Holly Brockman-Johnson is a Louisville based writer and teacher. Her essays and articles have appeared in Runner's World, The Courier-Journal and Conversations With Wendell Berry. She trades time between Louisville and Cape Cod with her children Kennan and Laney. Holly can be reached at hollymb@bellsouth.net.