Wordless Wednesday with Words

This past Saturday we attended John's first motocross race. I think that I was more nervous than anyone. He, clearly, was ready to go. He looks so little, but the reality is he is just as tall as I am.

At the starting line. My mother and I were sitting in the stands praying for his safety, and that he did not finish last. Although that is not the most honorable prayer to pray, it was heartfelt and we believed that God was going to honor his preparation.

Annnnnd...they're off! He was aggressive, but not overly so. He came out strong, and remained so until the end of the race.

Here he is attempting to catch the rider ahead of him. Building up speed and taking the jump with confidence and determination. I admire his fierce tenacity and courage. I would not get on the dirt bike, let alone make it go up in the air. Plus, the helmet would spoil my coiffed 'do.

Oh, dear. The money moves that strike fear into a mother's heart.


He finished 6th out of 7 riders and he did not get lapped. There was a woman in the stands whose husband is a riding instructor and she commented more than once on John's great form and ability. He was pleased as punch to hear that.

Do I think it's dangerous? Yes, incredibly so.

Would I choose this sport for my child? No.

I would choose something safe and boring like bowling or curling or ping-pong. But he does not want to bowl or curl or play ping-pong, he wants to ride the bike. So I let him, because all too often I feel like "Mother. Crusher of dreams." It's what he loves, and I am just not ready to say that because I am afraid, he can't do it.

All in all, it was a great day. Except for the porta-potty which looked as if they sent a man in there, who had not emptied his bladder for a week, and told him to let 'er rip! And while you're at it, we'll put on some Ray Charles and you can do the Mess Around. Ew.

Here is some video. Please disregard the screaming and gasping.