"I'll have the lobster." I didn't say it with conviction. I said it with the same trepidation you ask your parents for a machine gun. With a grim conviction they will probably say no. At first he didn't believe me that they had such a dish. It was there though. Right in the center of the menu described black and white. I can't remember what year it was, or what grade I was in at the time. I had just made weight and we were out for dinner in one of the biggest towns in South Dakota, which is to say not very big at all. It was the State tournament for AAU wrestling. It was one of a handful of times it was just my Dad and me. No brothers, no Mom, no girlfriend, no nothing, just us. He smiled a look that said "no way do I believe you will eat a lobster, and I probably don't want to pay for the opportunity". At that age I think I was 9 or 10, so maybe fourth grade. My parents had been divorced for years, so road trips with them both together never happened. He had offered to take me, my Mom relented. Off in the old pickup truck to lay smack on the mats of the Corn Palace, the mecca to all youth wrestling at one time in the Rushmore State(although at the time I think we might have been the Sunshine State, which is true. It can be sunny even when it's -30.). So there we sat a monumental question of trying something new for what was probably quite a bit of money. Lobster in South Dakota in the 80's was about as common as really seeing a jackalope, I'd imagine. They sure didn't serve it around Brookings that I knew. All I knew about lobster was it was what rich people ate on Dynasty and Dallas, and I wanted to try it. Why couldn't I be like J.R. or even Bobby?
"Ok, you can have it"
My eyes must have bulged out of their sockets. Who knows what made him say yes, probably his 3rd beer, a tactic I would use in years to come, sometimes waiting until the 5th or 6th for really difficult questions and/or apologies. How that waitress must have giggled handing that order in to the kitchen. This 50 pound soaking wet kid was going to eat a lobster. It is one of my fondest memories. In a time before selfies, and taking pictures of every meal it entirely belongs to me to keep it alive to this day. They brought the little metal wire rack holding the candle with the tin dish of butter suspended above it. The server lit the candle and I sat watching the butter melt in the glow. I asked what this was for, Dad explained. The big red lobster arriving at the table and we made jokes at it's expense. I cracked into it as best I could and my Dad helped me get to it using his slightly higher lobster knowledge. It was awesome. Not just the lobster, but the whole event of it, being somewhere new(yes, I know it's Mitchell, but I wasn't well travelled, having only been to maybe 3 or 4 states at the time), hanging out with someone I saw only on weekends and every-so-often weekdays and trying to eat this red alien on a plate with some lemon and butter.

Fast forward to this year for my own son at the AAU State wrestling circa 2016. I was focused on his competition his abilities and his desire to medal. All good goals for kids, but he still is 8. Granted he loves to win and keeps a tab on a lot of things sports related more than I do. His first match was against a wrestler he had never beaten before, but also someone he considered a tournament buddy. He was determined to win. At the tournament I saw many shirts with the "2 wrestlers 1 dream, my goal is to take away your dream!"  while a fairly true statement, I was pretty sure most kids don't look at it that way and once again overcompetitive parenting was the culprit. My son was ready to go he shook hands and the match began. I perched nervously to the side away from the mat. Why was I nervous? Who the hell knows, another weird thing about parenting little athletes. His Coach kneeled in the corner urging him on and yelling advice. He wrestled better than I had ever seen him perform. He came out on top 7-5 against a really tough opponent. Just showing how a year of his hard work had paid off, a year ago I don't know if he would have won that match. He shook hands and the ref raised his, he stepped up and gave his friend a hug, then went and shook coach's hands. He was excited as he walked off the mat and gave me a hug. The rest of the tournament went well, he wrestled hard and came up a few points short to medal, and was beat out of the bracket. He was angry, but eventually shook it off, quicker than last year and I didn't have to dodge any kicks and no kneepads were thrown in the garbage.

Later in the day, as a keepsake we purchased a picture collage where they actually take photos of the wrestlers during the match as long as you know the time of the match. As he browsed through the pictures of his lone victory. One stood out at him. Not the one of a takedown, an escape or a reversal, or of his hand being raised after the win. He wanted the one of them shaking hands. This was what was important to him a precursor to his match, him and someone he considers a friend stepping to challenge one another in an activity they both love. Or them shaking at the end where the match is done and they remain friends after the competition. Truly, a beautiful moment to have raised a kid to think in that manner, a job well done.

So of course we(the parents) purchased another picture where he was having his arm raised, because parents are twits. Guilty as charged.

Which hopefully brings me to the point of all this and ties it together somewhat. We often ignore the desires and goals of our children to be favorable with our own or what we think they "will appreciate more". In hindsight I feel bad about this in that we denied the memory he wanted to keep.  For my own experience, I don't remember if I placed that year at state, I don't remember one person I wrestled, but I remember doing something completely new with my Dad.  A lot of time this is where we fail as parents in sports. So caught up in the wins and losses at every level. We forget all of the events and good times and memories to be had around the sports themselves. By not living in the moment we are letting a lot of the good stuff slide by in order to get to the final score. We need to open our ears, live in the moment and listen to what our kids are telling us. When we do this it will create something far greater than scores and medals.

(I'll dedicate this one to my Dad. Happy Birthday, Jerry and thanks for all the fishes!)