(Not quite) the deepest cut

(Not quite) the deepest cut

Posted on March 2nd, 2020 by Scott Warnock

I’ve been involved with wrestling since 1982, so you can imagine that I’m enjoying that my son is having a good sophomore high school season. It didn’t start out that way, though, and the journey through it reminded me that at times, you gotta get out of the way.

In the beginning of the season, my son was having trouble making weight. Let’s get this off the table from the start: He’s not making a big cut to wrestle 132. He just needs to watch his meals a little, and he’ll be fine.

In December he had a thrilling overtime win, so the season started promising. But after that, he started missing weight. One tournament he was 0.4 pounds over. The next match it was 0.6. For those unacquainted with the sport, you’re either 132 or you’re not: You can’t be over.

It was frustrating, especially because of my long involvement with wrestling. See, I have cultivated expertise in it, and the “it” here includes managing weight.

But, hey, I’m not his coach. I try not to coach from the sidelines–or the front seat of the car. But people were looking to me like, “How can this go on?!”

After sitting in the stands one day after weigh-ins visibly upset, he turned to me for help, not realizing that meant that he had to listen to me over an extended period of time. A great and challenging thing about wrestling is it’s more than an on-the-“field” activity. They take the sport home with him, making daily decisions about diet and fitness. So I was happy to give him meal suggestions, but you can envision the conversation when I would walk into the kitchen and see him eating a bowl of cereal at 11:00 at night after having had dinner.

At one point, when I made my annoyance known, he threatened to quit. Wait, what happened to, “Dad, help me out?” I was taken aback, because despite my obvious investment in his success, I had never thought I would be the target.

Silly me. So I had to sit back and watch him ride the bench for some matches.

Then one night, I noticed he took it easy with dinner, and he later put on his gear and went running. The next morning it was oatmeal for breakfast. I told my wife: He has made a decision.

Those runs increased in frequency and length. He resumed his spot in the line-up, and he was making weight no problem. One Sunday he went out and ran nine miles.

He had disciplined himself to do what was needed, inspired and motivated by his coaches.

I’m supportive. I’m at every match. We watch his videos together. When he slept through a practice, I gave him an earful.

But ultimately, the experience had to be about him and his decisions.

Whew, it was tough! I know–I mean, I write this column–that your kids often don’t want what you have to give, and the more you have to offer, the more something is in your wheelhouse, the harder it is to hold it back–especially when they need you. And you know what, I get along with my son just fine. We have a strong rapport.

It’s a little scary. When he threatened to quit, I wondered if I had let my pride get in the way and I took an unyielding “You’re going to do it my way,” stance. Where would we be?

In the end, he won’t be grappling with me, and I shouldn’t ask him to. He’ll have opponents, some of them quite fierce, across from him. He’ll have to take that on as all wrestlers do, in the center of the mat, by themselves.

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Scott Warnock

Scott Warnock is a writer and teacher who lives in South Jersey. He is a professor of English at Drexel University, where he is also the Associate Dean of Undergraduate Education in the College of Arts and Sciences. Father of three and husband of one, Scott is president of a local high school education foundation and spent many years coaching youth sports.