In the pits, he dresses with care, motorcycles surround us everywhere. Goggles, helmet, knee braces and pants, necessary gear to begin the dance. The Gladiators of Motocross; they all are here. “Don’t forget, Mom,” he grins, “Show No Fear!” The A class comes back, their race is done. One is missing, I clutch at my son. “Be careful out there,” says one as he passes by. Why are we here, why!? Oh, why!? “The whoops are rough, the corners fast. Stay on the gas, boy, or you’ll be last.” Where is the sport, where is the fun? They call his race, I want to run. Final words I wish I could say, at the starting line, on his big day. Instead I speak what he needs to hear - and a promise again even Mom shows no fear. A silent prayer for this son of mine, what I should have said at the starting line: You don’t need to go so fast, there’s nothing wrong with being last. Should you need to feel the speed, to take to the air, I want to look, but I don’t dare. “Lady! Lady! Is that your son? Hell, Lady! Your boy just won!” On rubber legs I make my way to the finish line of his big day. He grins at me - he knows he’s fast, “I did what you told me, Mom! I kicked some ass!”
Happy Mother’s Day to the MomMom Family
