From the Sidelines to Forever

Growing up, I thought the Saturday games and the late Tuesday night practices were for me. I was wrong. Maybe they’re for all of us. It turns out there’s something mutually beneficial about putting your kids in sports — the kids get the gift of the game, and if you’re lucky, the moms get each other. 

My mom, Jenny, and I grew up on the Lakeshore field hockey field in a small town in Pasadena, Maryland. My Aunt Cindy was the head coach. My mom was the assistant — widely considered the greatest cone placer of all time.

We were a high-functioning youth field hockey program: timed miles, one-minute plank tests, practice never cancelled even in lightning. We crushed teams by 10. Half of our girls eventually went Division One in their respective sports. But the most important thing that happened on those grass fields had nothing to do with any of that. 

It had to do with five women who found each other there. 

· · · 

Deanna. Cindy. Jenny. Crista. Karen.

My mom isn’t entirely sure how it started — whether the girls chose each other or the moms did. “It was definitely kismet,” she says. What she does know is that they all wanted the same things: the best for their daughters, to win, and to have fun doing it. The girls had their positions on the field. The moms had theirs on the sideline. 

They were thrown together the way sports parents always are — stuck at miserable locations for copious amounts of time, including a little grass field in New Egypt, New Jersey and the distinctly fragrant fields of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  

They were there for each other when their daughters didn’t make the team. When the girls had their first heartbreaks. Through the particular exhaustion and exhilaration of watching someone you love compete in something they care deeply about.  

They were all different. Different personalities, different daughters, different snacks in the cooler. But they shared the same bone-deep understanding of what it meant to be a sports mom — which, among other things, means knowing that some sports parents are absolutely unhinged, and being deeply relieved to have found the sane ones. 

Every good team has a roster. 

Cindy is the coach — because she always was. Her teaching background made her organized, goal-driven, and knowledgeable. She was always hunting down the best opportunities and the best clubs for the girls, forever raising the bar and toughening everyone up along the way. She is also, by general consensus, the funniest one. 

Crista is the quarterback: fiercely loyal, smart, drawing up plays in her head, making plans, executing them with precision. She was the protector of the group — the mom other parents thought twice about crossing. Also, it must be said: the best cook. 

Deanna is the running back — always moving, always making things happen, always willing to support the team in whatever way it needs. She makes the best drinks and crafts. 

Karen is the captain: pouring her heart and soul into everything the group does and single-handedly creating the team culture. She has the photos to prove it — documentation going all the way back to their very first tournament. And the parties. Her Halloween parties featured haunted houses elaborate enough to charge admission for. Every mom knew early on their kids’ future birthdays were going to suffer by comparison. 

And then there is Jenny. The center. Nothing happens without her. The go-to liaison between the coaches and the parents — the buffer, the translator, the one who made sure everyone felt heard. She was the emotional support for the girls and the therapist for the moms. She also had the most distinct cheer and an elite goodie-bag game. 

· · · 

Over 12 years of carpools, tournaments, team dinners, celebratory wins, and heartbreaking losses, this group became family.  

They watched their daughters go from cleats to college caps and gowns to first jobs. And through all of it, the moms kept showing up for one another —every holiday and every milestone without fail. 

As the teams dissolved and the girls grew up — moving toward different goals and different zip codes — the friendship didn’t end with them. It simply entered a new chapter. 

They raised their families together — the dads (who, to be honest, had no choice), the moms, the siblings (and that’s another story) — all of it shared and remembered.  

Endless laughter. Endless group texts. Endless club sport bills. Moments woven into the fabric of our childhoods and our parents’ adulthood, whether we realized it at the time or not. 

Happy Mother’s Day to this tribe — Jenny, Deanna, Crista, Cindy, and Karen — and to every mom who found a lifelong friend on the sideline.