
Hell Week(s)
Those of you with highs school-aged kids who participate in fall sports know what I'm referring to.
Hell Week: a period of time in the last dying days of summer set up by high school coaches to torture parents.
Who invented it and why? Winter and spring sports-parents don't have to go through this crap. It's not fair.
Every morning for the last two weeks right up until school began, Daughter #2 had to report for field hockey practice at 5:30am. Yes, that's right. I said 5:30.
Did you know the sun doesn't rise until after 6:00?
Have I mentioned that I am not a morning person? My brain doesn't even pretend to function until 7am.
Last year during Hell Week I got off easy. I managed to bribe Daughter #1 into getting up each morning to drive her sister at 5:20. She asked for $100. She didn't realize I would've given her twice that. It was money well spent.
But this year she's off at college, selfishly living her own life. And First-Born Son has returned to NYC, the ingrate. That left cranky old me to take D #2 every morning.
I was not a happy camper.
The first morning we arrived before anyone else. It was pitch black, and, as tempted as I might have been, I ws not about to leave her there alone with only her hockey stick for protection.
"Why are we the only ones here?"
"I wanted to make sure I was on time," she told me.
I stared at her. Who was this child?
"I understand." She nodded, clearly humoring me. "I will never be the first one here again."
"Where's the coach?"
"Oh, she doesn't get here till 5:45."
Excuse me? If she expects them to be there at 5:30, the least she can do is haul her skinny little ass there on time, don't you think?
Do you know how cold it is at 5:30 in the morning? Even with the heater blasting, we sat there shivering. I thought, with great longing, of my winter coat, hanging at home in the hall closet.
"Maybe you'll get to see the sun rise," D #2 suggested hopefully, interrupting my daydream.
Does she even know who I am?
"I'm not one of those people who need to see the sun rise," I told her. "I can watch it do the same thing in reverse at sunset. I'm good with that."
By now four or five cars had pulled up, but no players got out. Clearly no mom wanted to be the first to leave their daughter there in the dark. Finally, two dads drove up in trucks, and I knew things were about to start rolling along. They wouldn't put up with this waiting crap.
Sure enough, their daughters were booted into the pitch blackness and the trucks peeled away.
"Okay, go," I said.
"But I can't see who's out there," she whined. "It's too dark."
"I don't care." I pushed her towards her door. "They have sticks. Get the hell out of the car."
Now, I am not a napper. I cannot just go home and go back to bed. Even the cats and the dog were still asleep. Not one of them raised a furry little head when I arrived back home each morning.
Hurricane Danny pelted the island that weekend with torrential rain and wind. But the coach was actually there, greeting parents as we pulled up.
"Only 40 minutes today," she announced. Like we should be happy.
Wait, I wanted to get out of the car and get in her face. If I was the kind of person ballsy enough to do that type of thing. You got me out of bed on a Saturday morning during a tropical storm, and now you're saying I've got to turn around and come back in 40 minutes? Are you F-ing kidding me?
One of the last mornings, after I dropped her off and was driving home, I noticed the full moon setting on one side of the flat open road, and on the other, the sky streaked with burnt orange and yellow as the sun prepared to make its grand entrance.
It was an amazing sight.
That is, if I was one of those people who cared about things like that.