Relief For a Guilty Mom: End of Summer Means End of Cubs Season Nears
The end of summer has arrived. My children go back to school Monday and that longed-for (by me) state of being called Structure will finally return to seize control of my chaotic, summer-weary home. While four of my children are (at best) resigned to this state of affairs, at least one of them is glad to see Fall, because Fall means Football.
This year, Fall for me means that the end of Baseball season is blessedly near. The end of a Cubs season so ugly we saw our beloved Derrek Lee traded and were actually glad to let him go so that he could go and have a better life. Let's not even talk about poor Lou. We as Cubs fans know that the guys who are paid to wear the uniform are, with a few exceptions, able to move forward with their lives in a new uniform; that they do not and never have had Cubby Blue blood coursing through their veins. It is we, the hapless fans, who cannot walk away. Worse, like a genetic defect, we pass it on to our innocent children.
Which brings me to why I am so relieved this season is coming to a close: Guilt. I have five beautiful, healthy children. They all cheer for the Cubs, three of them casually. Two have it bad. My 14-year-old at least has his intense love for Football and the Chicago Bears (pleaseGodletthembegoodthisyear) to distract him from the embarrassment that is the Cubs. For my youngest boy, my little red-headed Liam, my angst grows like the piles of dirty laundry in my laundry room.
He is only 8, too little to understand that wearing a Cubs shirt every single day simply exposes you to ridicule. Too little to understand that the familiar taunt at his cousins, "White Sox stink" (he's not allowed to say "suck"), just invites belly laughs and cruel taunts from those smug little monsters in black. Finally, he's thankfully too little to curse his parents for the lifetime of pain that is in store for him.
I wouldn't feel so bad if it was just the way he is wired. We fostered it. Had the game on every day. Gave him a full Cub's wardrobe, from birth. Brought him to Wrigley Field. God help us, we even named our dog Ivy. What chance did he have?
So good-bye Derrek. Good-bye Lou. Good riddance, Cubs. Maybe next year, Liam. Sorry.
Go Bears.
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