You know that thing that parents always say, "it's better that our [insert son, daughter] have this experience than we. It is what we have striven for our whole lives."
[Insert picture of grey-haired woman wearing a pilly cardigan sweater and mended stone-washed denims purchased in 1989, who has to look up and squint to see your face, what with the bad posture resulting from all those nights working that janitor's job at the abattoir, and the huge glasses last in style when disco was cool.]
I spent last week clearing out old papers that were taking up space in the garage. I shredded so many checks. For coaching, bikes, wheels, more wheels to replace the wheels, airline tickets, medical bills. I told Drew it was like we had sent Dean to college twice - once for his Fire Fighting degree and once for his Cycling degree.
My son is going to Barcelona next month with the US Cycling team.
No, I've never been to Barcelona. But the month after, I'm taking a week off from my abattoir position to see him race - in South Central LA. I may even buy myself a new cardigan for the trip.
Oh, you know I'm full of crap. Congratulations, Dean! I couldn't be prouder.