Once again we found ourselves on the fields of Council Rock North for the annual Spring Track and Field meet for Special Olympics on Saturday. The first time was thirty-seven years ago when Bryan was just six. That’s a lot of “water under the bridge”!

A new young coach, whom we really like, was on hand to guide the athletes to all of their various stations on the campus. We were standing on the football field where the medal stands were housed, waiting to snap a picture of Bryan receiving a gold medal for this event. After the photo op passed with Bryan flashing his index finger proudly proclaiming he was first in this event, the coach came up to us and pseudo-jokingly mentioned that since we did not have our volunteer clearances, we were not supposed to be on the field with the athletes.

Unbeknownst to us, there was a recent ruling by Special Olympics about no one except volunteers being allowed near the athletes. Lawyers were involved. The new rule trickled down to our little meet in Bucks County from on high. We were not aware of it at the time.

I behaved badly. After the admonishment, I huffed and stormed off of the field, my husband trailing in my wake. He was trying to talk me off the ledge, but I was seeing red and there was no dissuading me. My Momma Bear was surfacing and I couldn’t tamp it down.

Feeling badly, the coach “allowed” us to be escorted to another site to watch Bryan do the shotput, under the escort’s watchful eye. We were then told we could watch the remainder of the day’s events from the uncomfortable rough concrete bleachers on the opposite side of the field. I fussed and fumed some more.

To “justify” my behavior, I will give some background. As mentioned previously, I have been coming to these events since Bryan was six. He will be 43 in a few weeks. Each time, the uncomfortable anxiety begins in the pit of my stomach as I arrive and watch my son compete. You’d think that after all these years that would ease a bit. Not in the least. For all of those years, we were allowed to roam freely on the field, accompanying Bryan to all of his events, cheering him close by as he ran, threw and racewalked his way to gold, silver and bronze. He has learned to expect mom and dad to be right there as he competed. When we were banished to the bleachers, he was noticeably upset and didn’t quite understand what was going on.

This venue is also in my home district where I taught for almost thirty years. It is the district in which my husband completed his high school education. It has been an important part of my life for many years. This field is where Bryan was honorary captain of the football team and embraced for many formative educational years.

Yes, I know. These explanations still do not excuse the upset visible to those near me. This knee-jerk reaction was also based on me feeling a certain sense of “entitlement” to be near my son. I was, after all, a teacher who had every clearance known to man under my belt. I wasn’t some sexual predator luring young athletes to their demise.

In hindsight, I understand why the coach kindly asked us to leave. She was simply doing her job. Following the rules. Bryan was in no way bruised by this ruling. He was not physically bruised in the field of competition. But my ego? That’s another matter entirely!