THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 26, 1995 TAG: 9502240206
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 31 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY SUSAN W. SMITH, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 65 lines
If your son is a wrestler, it means knowing where he is most afternoons and evenings, simple meals, sorted laundry, furniture arranged along the perimeter of the room and a major attempt at stress control.
According to one definition, a wrestler is one who trains like a madman to have the power to force his opponent's body into the shape of a pretzel and then gently pin him to a soft mat.
When a son becomes a wrestler, the lifestyle of the entire family seems to change.
Weigh-ins and weight checks become as important as the daily stock quote to those who have invested everything.
At home, refrigerators are emptied and pantry shelves are barren. Younger children are reminded to eat all their school lunch and maybe even their friend's lunch. What little evening meal is served, is a rushed event so that the food can be hidden before the wrestler returns from practice.
Carol and John Anton once were seen hurriedly dining at Court House Cafe. Their son, Aaron, is a 103-pound Great Bridge Wildcat. The parents admitted that they were sneaking out and that they had to get back before Aaron got home from practice.
Instead of a chilled glass of Cabernet Sauvignon with the ever-present pasta dish, many parents resort to swigs of carbo fuel to keep up with the stress.
Husband and wife conversations take on a whole new vocabulary. Instead of the Master Charge bill and brake jobs, they talk about takedowns, arm bars, half Nelsons, gut wrenches, reverse cradles and body lifts.
It's not only the pressure of six minutes of one-on-one of mat time, but a season of determination, sweat, perseverance and support . . . and that's from the parents. It's also a season of wondering why someone jacks up the gym thermostat every time your son starts warming up for his match.
Most of the time in the gym, it's easy to spot the parents. Some pace, others fan themselves. Non-smokers are tempted to step out for a smoke and some watch the action like a game of peek-a-boo . . . and pity the poor fan who sits in front of the parent that flails the air with each wrestler's move.
Some parents are even pushed to the limits of their niceness. Once, Brenda Dustin almost threatened to pin the manager of the Olive Garden restaurant when he told her that her customary spaghetti ``take out'' was no longer on the menu.
The order was Scot Dustin's routine pre-match meal. Dustin was last year's Great Bridge 135-pounder. As in most sports, you don't mess with tradition or lucky shirts, torn jocks or old shoes.
Life with a wrestler also means facing your son, whose ears now look like twisted funnel cakes, and sincerely thanking him for bringing home his laundry. Often the net laundry bag has traveled in the trunk of the car for a couple of days. Unwrapped on the deck, the layers of T-shirts and sweat shirts have hardened in congealed sweat.
Wrestling also gives the family the opportunity to watch the original Greek Olympic sport practiced in the privacy of its own living room. Courage and bravery can be witnessed as the athlete demonstrates a new move on his dad.
Designer clothes take on a whole new meaning. T-shirts read ``No Fat on the Mat'', ``The Best Wrestle and the Rest Play Basketball'' and then there's my favorite . . . ``Wrestler's Mom.'' by CNB