Last weekend, I went to watch the 9th grade basketball team my boyfriend coaches play one of its arch rivals. I arrived at half time and slipped into the first empty seat I could find, trying my best not to disturb the parents and grandparents already perched in the stands.
After shuffling off my coat and glancing at the score, I began, as I always do, to take inventory of the individuals around me. To my left were three slender, young mothers, sporting three variations on the preppy mom uniform - blue jeans, wrap sweaters and clunky leather boots. They chatted amongst themselves, but kept their eyes fixed on the court. On my right, two enthusiastic fathers effervesced about the team playing better that night than they had all season. I heard the man behind me answer his cell phone only to be shushed by his wife. "Honey..." she hissed, "You're talking really loudly."
And then my eyes fell on the woman seated just in front of me whose curly, salt-and-pepper hair was drawn softly away from her face, revealing a placid expression and unfurrowed brow. Her lips rested in a half-smile that evoked a sense of calm not normally observed at a basketball game. I was intrigued.
I leaned a few inches forward and saw a mound of woven cotton cascading over her thigh into a cloth satchel. It was then that I noticed her hands, poised just above her lap, gently gripping a pair of plastic knitting needles.
She was knitting. At a basketball game.
Now, I am not saying there is anything wrong with bringing handwork to a sporting event....I'm just saying it was something I had not witnessed until that moment.
My first reaction was one of mild disgust. Could her son's basketball game really be that boring to her? How would he feel if he knew she was knitting during his game? Like he's not good enough... not interesting enough...not her top priority?
But as I thought it over more carefully, I decided that perhaps my first assessment had been unfair. In all honesty, she could have been paying full (or almost full) attention to her son's game even if her hands were otherwise occupied. And maybe he would rather her knit throughout his game than embarrass him by cheering or yelling at the ref.
Maybe the gentle, mindless activity helped this mother relax and enjoy something that left other parents overinvolved and tense.
Who knows....perhaps all those 9th grade boys would be better off if their parents paid a little bit less attention to every dribble, pass and foul shot they made. Maybe they'd be relieved to know their parents weren't always hyper-focused on them, and that they would even take the occasional opportunity to let their minds wander.
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