Field Day

Sheryl got out of the driver’s seat and stood in the parking lot, a bright yellow sports penny both clinging and hanging on her body like a static electric diaper. Her grey slacks and white collar framing the obnoxious jersey in business attire. Piper, her daughter, stood at her side, matching yellow penny grazing her bare kneecaps, cheek sucked between her teeth nervously. They had arrived at Field Day late, but they were there, pennies a-blazin.

    Sheryl scoped the field: ten thousand sneaker-wearing moms and fanny pack-wearing dads, colorful bandanas tied on heads, wrists, and necks, more orange slices than she could count, and everyone’s mouth moving a mile a minute with Fairview Elementary gossip. She took a deep breath. Glancing down at her daughter, Sheryl could practically feel the energy radiating off her like a microwave ready to ding. This was going to be a long day.

   Swallowing hard against the bitter, toxic positivity around her, Sheryl grabbed her daughter’s hand and said, “All right, let’s do this”.

   Piper launched into an involuntary skip, “Let’s go!”

   As mother and daughter approached the sign-in table, her ex-husband’s words rang in her head: 

   You’ve reached the voicemail box of SHERYL WYATT, please leave a message after the tone. TONE. “Sheryl? This is your last chance. If I hear one more time that Piper went to another event with a babysitter, I’m going to take you back to court. You’ve GOT to start showing up or I’m going to ask for full custody. I will not have a daughter raised by strangers. It’s not about the money, Sheryl, and if you can’t see that then we have bigger problems. You WILL take your daughter to Field Day today. That’s it. That’s it.” 

   “Asshole,” she whispered under her breath.

   “What, mom?”

   “Nothing”

   It was about the money. It always was. She was a working mother; did he not understand that? She didn’t have time to go to the dry cleaner let alone Field Day. If she were a man, this wouldn’t even be a conversation. It would be, “Wow, Sheryl, thanks for taking care of Piper, we’re so lucky we never have to worry about affording college.” But no, she was a woman, so the expectation was to bake cookies, take a turn as a PTO treasurer, and sew an effing costume for some garbage kid version of The Hungry Caterpillar. But, to threaten a custody battle? Come on.

   “Asshole.”

   “I’m sorry?” The woman behind the sign-in table furrowed her brow despite the desperate smile painted on her face.

   “Hi, we’re signing in. Jones.”

   “Of course, I know Piper Jones. How are you, sweetheart?” The woman said with lilting sweetness as she peeled a yellow smiley-face sticker and handed it to Piper.

   “I’m good Mrs. Bailey,” Piper replied, proudly pressing the sticker into the center of her jersey.

   “And who’s here with you today?”

   “This is my mom.”

   “Oh! Finally! Mrs. Jones, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Justin’s mom,” she said expectantly, face beaming, hand extended to Sheryl, who couldn’t fathom a guess as to who Justin was. 

   Sheryl showed all her teeth and took the woman’s hand, “It’s Wyatt and the pleasure's mine.”

   Apparently appeased, Mrs. Bailey pointed across the field, “You’re the last one to arrive and the yellow group is all the way across the field, hun. They’ve already started, so just jump in when you get over there. Hurry, hurry. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones!”

   Bite me, Sheryl thought as she ushered her daughter away with two hands. 

  The two weaved their way through groups of red, blue, orange, white, and black jerseys, kids running, throwing, and playing games all around them, giving Sheryl a whole new sense of exhaustion. Across the field at the far end, Sheryl could see a swarm of yellow jerseys. A man dressed in yellow head to foot, including knee-high socks and yellow sunglasses, looking a total fool, was ushering them over with frantic enthusiasm. 

   “Piper! We need you, kid!” called the man, a comical amount of yellow sweatbands and wristbands adorning him. “The green teams’ killing us and you’re the fastest third grader we’ve got!” 

   Piper dropped Sheryl’s hand and ran unfettered towards the man, the kids cheering for her arrival. Sheryl was left to stomp through the hot grass on her own, sweat building on her forehead, nearly tripping over children on the way. By the time Sheryl had made her way to the event, Piper was already at the starting line, a green-shirted boy next to her. 

   “All right Pipes, if you beat him, it’ll be yellows first and only victory,” the man said from the sideline, “No pressure!” He clapped, backing up, nodding confidently at her.

   Piper gave her opponent an evil side eye and the boy ground his toe into the grass like a bull. Around Sheryl, small children in green and yellow dress-sized pennies were bouncing up and down; adults and kids alike, all shouting her daughter’s name, “Pi-per, Pi-per!”. Confused, Sheryl brought her hands together, golf-clapping uncertainly, squinting at her daughter under the bright sun.

   Of all the ridiculous things, a kazoo signal sounded and both kids were off, racing towards a bucket of water balloons fifty paces away. Sheryl quickly learned that they weren’t able to use their hands to collect the balloons, having to rush them back to the starting line using any other body part. The boy in green clumsily attempted to scoop the balloons with his elbows, balloons sliding like fish out of his grip. Piper, deft and unladylike, got right down on her hands and knees, planting her face in the bucket. After a second she emerged, the knot of a balloon firmly between her teeth. Arms free, she sprinted with lightning speed back to the starting line like an Olympic athlete going for gold. 

   The man in yellow’s face was bright red as he squatted low, cranking his fist in circles shouting “whoo, whoo, whoo”. Children crowded the spray-painted line on the grass, getting as close to the action as they could. Other parents in yellow pennies looked on with excitement. Piper went back and forth, back and forth, getting faster at each turn.

   It felt like the whole field had their eyes on Piper. Slowly, Sheryl found herself getting caught up in the energy. Soon Sheryl was standing on the line next to the man in yellow, hands braced on her knees, “Go Piper!” bellowing from her throat until it hurt. Three more balloons. Two. One. Piper’s hair was sticking to her neck with sweat, concentration in her eyes. Almost there.

   When Piper crossed the line for the last time, final balloon in her mouth, there was an eruption of joy. Jumping, shouting, and whooping. Sheryl, work shoes now covered in grass and dirt, hollered at the sky. That was her kid, her kid had just CRUSHED the green team.

   “It’s not fair!” shouted the boy in green, smashing a water balloon on the ground and getting his blue Velcro shoes wet. 

   Sheryl laughed, calling to the boy, “Life’s not fair!”, feeling it important he learn this lesson early and often. 

   A sea of yellow pennies closed in on Piper who was panting and smiling in relief, but it was the man in yellow that reached her first. The man scooped Piper up and propped her on his shoulder.

   “Pi-per, Pi-per!” shouted the yellow pennied crowd. 

   Slowing almost to a stop, Sheryl watched the man dressed as a cartoon banana for Christ's sake, lower her daughter to the ground with care, give her daughter high-fives, good jobs, and an affectionate hair tousle. Who was this guy? Pinching her brows together she walked through the dispersing crowd. When she reached Piper, Sheryl crouched down to meet her daughter’s eyes, taking her small shoulders in her hands.

   “Hey, who knew you had that in you? That other kid might be crying you beat him so badly. That’s my girl.”

   “He’s crying?” Piper asked worriedly.

  “He’ll get over it,” Sheryl dismissed, “Let’s get you to another race, I can’t wait to see what else you can do.” With that, Sheryl stood and took Piper’s hand, ready to find the next event, but she was stopped by the man in yellow. 

   “Hey, before we move on, Piper, I’d like you to go over and shake Robby’s hand. You both ran your hardest, and that’s what matters,” the man said.

  Sheryl looked at him, at his strange, large sweaty form, sweat bands hardly capturing the downpour off his head. 

   “That’s not what matters,” Sheryl said, affronted, “She won, and that’s what matters.”

   Startled, the man seemed to have noticed her presence for the first time. “That’s not what we try and teach here at Fairview. We try and teach sportsmanship and respect. But it does feel pretty good when you win,” he winked at Piper with a smile.

   “Well, I try and teach my daughter that all she needs is self-respect.”

   “Your daughter! Mrs. Jones, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

   “It’s Wyatt. And you are?” Sheryl asked, still holding Piper’s hand firmly.

   “I’m sorry Mrs. Wyatt -”

   “Ms.”

   “Ms. Wyatt. I’m Mr. Newman,” he said, looking at her as though she should recognize the name. When she only stared blankly back, Piper jumped in.

   “He’s my teacher, mom.”

   “Mmm,” Sheryl replied, “Well, your teacher and I seem to disagree on what exactly you should be learning.” Mr. Newman’s face twitched, and he closed his mouth.

  Without a word, Piper released her grip on Sheryl’s hand and slid her arm away. Sheryl looked down at her as she tugged the hem of her yellow penny. 

   “Can I go over with my friends?” Piper asked.

   “It’s your Field Day, not mine, do what you want,” Sheryl said, shooing her away.

   Sheryl and the man, I’m sorry, Mr. Newman, watched Piper’s ponytail swing as she ran over to her yellow pennied teammates. 

   “Mind if I walk with you?” he asked politely.

   “If you want,” she said, feeling utterly trapped and hoping desperately not to get dripped on by his enormous sweat patches. 

  After a second, he remarked, “I’m glad you made it. You know, I think Piper really appreciates having you here.”

   Sheryl looked at him sharply, “Did she say those words?”

   “Not exactly…”

   “Then, I don’t peg you as a mind reader, Mr. Newman.”

   He wiped his face with the inside of his bright yellow shirt, showing off a large hair-covered belly, “Not a mind reader, just someone who spends entire school days with your kid.”

   “You feel like you know her. Better than me? She is my daughter Mr. Newman, don’t forget that.”

   He held up his hands, “Would never pretend to be anything other than I am, but…”

   “But what.”

   “But the only adults I see her with are babysitters and nannies, who sit in the car or are always on their phones. She talks about her dad a lot, but I know he lives far, and she only gets to see him on some weekends, which I know is hard for her. What I’m saying is that kids need to feel seen, Ms. Wyatt. There is a biological need for them to feel like grownups care. And I’m not saying you don’t,” he interjected quickly before she could say anything, “but, being present is part of that. Watching. You were cheering your face off with the rest of us if I recall. I can only imagine how that felt for Piper.”

   “Due respect, Mr. Newman, you don’t know my life. You don’t know what my job is like. Some mothers cook, but I don’t have time for that, so I hire someone. I guarantee Piper eats healthier than any other kid here. Some mothers take their kids to the park, but I don’t have time for that, so I bring the park to the backyard. You should see the setup we’ve got going, expensive as hell. Don’t let Piper fool you, don’t let her make you think I don’t do anything for her.”

   Mr. Newman stopped and looked at Sheryl, pulling his sunglasses to the top of his head. She felt her chest tighten and her muscles go ridged. How could it be that she still had a fear of being reprimanded by the teacher?

   “Somethings can’t be bought, Ms. Wyatt. Time with her mother is one of them,” he said. When she didn’t say anything in response, he began walking again.

  Twice in one day, men had called her out for not being woman enough, not being maternal enough. Well, you know what, maybe she wasn’t maternal enough. Maybe they were right. Maybe she wasn’t built to be a mother. A company executive, yes; snuggle time with mommy, no. Sheryl had no doubt that those babysitters and nannies could do a better job than she could any day. It was their job for Christ’s sake. They were getting paid for it. Maybe if SHE got paid for it she would be better at it… But that was the problem, wasn't it? That’s what Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes-Newman was saying. It was free. There’s no money exchange when it comes to spending time with Piper. 

   Sheryl swallowed. She had no idea how fast Piper was until today, how quick and athletic she was, how liked she was by everyone at school. Most mothers knew things like this about their kids - who their friends are, who their teachers are, what they like, what they don’t like - but Sheryl had no idea. You know what, that would never fly at work, Sheryl thought. She would never allow herself to know so little about a client. And how sad was that? She knew more about her clients than her own kid. So, maybe she needed to think about this like a job. Piper was her client. It was a mom job, the job of being a mother. An unpaid job, no money involved. A voluntary, vomitous love-based job. God-damn it. Okay.

   With a few hurried steps, Sheryl caught up to Mr. Newman who had drifted ahead. “Okay, which one of these ball busters is Justin? Apparently, this is a friend of Piper's. Or at least his Stepford Wife mother made it seem that way.”

   Mr. Newman looked at her in surprise, then smiled. “That one over there,” he said, pointing at a boy standing next to Piper making fart noises in his armpit. 

   Sheryl was going to squeeze all the information she could out of Mr. Newman while she had his attention, all her head-hunting talents put to good use. Then, on the way home, she was going to ask Piper what she likes to do for fun. Seemed like as good a place as any to start.