EPISODE 10 EPISODE 10It was my favorite time of year—high school football season—and even though I knew volunteer work could be a real hassle, I just wanted to be a part of it all.
I casually told Hayden’s football coach I would “help out,” which I thought meant I had agreed to send out a few emails, sell t-shirts, or bake cupcakes for the team dinners. However, I had just unknowingly leaped into a vast, dark chasm of unknown perils.
At some point, the coach began referring to me as “Team Mom.” Initially, I was flattered, because the new title seemed so loving, so nurturing. I envisioned the players giving me side hugs as I bandaged their boo-boos and offered them freshly baked cookies.
I soon discovered accepting the Team Mom title meant I was also expected to coordinate volunteers, type up and copy programs, raise thousands of dollars, plan the team banquet, throw a tailgate fundraiser, research and analyze complicated state regulations regarding 501(c)(3) nonprofit status, and split the atom.
Soon, I was forced to say goodbye to the things I once held dear—a clean house, home-cooked meals, a good night’s sleep, free time, sanity. I had unwittingly accepted hazardous duty without pay, and I had to learn to survive.
I also learned I had to watch out for The Haters. Apparently, becoming Team Mom had given me instant mortal enemies. The reasons were complicated, but those two innocent-sounding words, when placed together and assigned to a middle-aged housewife, incited extreme resentment, territorial hostilities, power struggles, bitter rivalries, and threats of violence.
When the booster club president approached me in an aggressive manner after the game and said, “So, who’s in charge here, YOU or ME?” I found out what she really meant was, “Listen, who the bleep do you think you are coming along with your smiley face and your Bermuda shorts, trying to steal my limelight? Get this straight: I like getting my ego stroked, and you are cramping my style. So back off.”
Also, there was one particular football parent who seemed to have it out for me. In addition to throwing killer glares and snide remarks my way as often as possible, she also cornered me during the tailgate fundraiser to accuse me of “messing up” the hot dog pricing. I was initially confused, until I realized what she really meant was, “Make no mistake about it, due to insecurities rooted in childhood, I have made it my goal to turn all the other moms against you because it makes me feel powerful, and I thrive on drama.”
Thankfully, I did not lose control of my bowels. Instead I smiled, pleaded ignorance, and carried on as if nothing had happened. Although I did make a mental note to start packing pepper spray.
As Team Mom, I became the inbox for every imaginable parent grievance about practice time, meeting time, position assignments, equipment distribution, fundraising, and penalty calls. I had no real authority to change anything, but the parents knew that. They weren’t asking for change. They were really saying, “We have no intention of complaining directly to the coach, because it might negatively impact our sons’ playing time. So, when we feel like launching into a bitter rant, we expect you to take it like one of those inflatable clown punching bags.”
Other than publicizing the coach’s cell phone number, the only thing I could do was learn how to look like a concerned listener, while singing the refrain from “I Will Survive” repeatedly in my head.
I learned valuable lessons from the experience: how to sell snow cones and price hotdogs, how to avoid Mean Lady and Hostile Mom in the parking lot, and how to appear sympathetic to Whiny Parent’s harangue about the odor of her son’s cleats, without taking in a single word. Also, I knew all of it, no matter how difficult or painful, had helped the team. I knew my son and the other players had made lasting memories, and I had been part of it all.
And I learned the most important Team Mom lesson: Convince some other sucker to do the job next year.