Whose Jersey I Was Wearing

A couple of days ago, a line of Varsity football players barreled into my classroom.

I’ve been known to offer encouraging journal writing times before big game days. Friday was a huge game day. The league championship was at stake against a higher ranked team. I thought they might have been there to ask to write with me.

They weren’t there to write.

They were uncharacteristically quiet, this group of boys. Shuffling their enormous feet. Smiling funny.

“Guess what,” one of the guys finally said. “We get to pick one teacher to be with us on the field for Friday’s game and we pick you.”


“You get a jersey,” he said. As if he had to convince me to accept.

So it turns out that during the last home game of the regular season, the senior Varsity football boys get to choose one teacher at our school who has supported them the most to stand with them for the coin toss.

Somehow the Varsity boys thought of me.

I accepted the honor. I wore my fancy new home jersey on game day, and got my hair done and my nails painted blue for the big night. On Senior Night, the senior athletic trainers, cheerleaders and Varsity players are announced and walk the length of the field with their families. The moms wear their sons’ jerseys.

“Whose jersey are you wearing?” a mom asked. I looked down at my number. 65. No boy’s number.

When it was my turn, I stood on the field, and it was bright and overwhelming. I had no idea what to do. Someone handed me a bouquet of flowers.

One of the guys, a young man who writes really nice essays and also happens to be one of the most powerful high school football players in the country at the moment, told me not to worry. He took my hand. The captains and I crossed the field to meet the referees and the other team’s captains.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said as we walked the line.

“It means the world to me,” I said, wearing a jersey I didn’t earn except by love. Because these boys earn their jerseys. They weight lift, they train all summer, they work. The most I can bench press is—I can’t even complete that sentence. I’ve never bench pressed anything in my life.

Whose jersey was I wearing anyway?

I have a private answer to that question, one that only occurred to me Friday morning. Out of my overwhelming gratitude for these boys an old memory shimmered to the surface. I counted years. I counted again, to make sure I was right.

You see, in my mid-twenties, I lost a baby I deeply wanted to miscarriage. One appointment, there was a heartbeat. The next time there was none.

My husband and I grieved intensely and privately. And briefly. We already had one awesome daughter. In five years, we had another awesome daughter. Our little family has been blessed with good health, the love of friends, stunning good fortune. We have very full lives. Beautiful lives.

Yet in a very quiet, still, solitary place within me I have held the memory of that one I lost. I believed early on that he was a boy. A friend of mine who suffered several miscarriages suggested that naming him would make me feel more peaceful. I did as she said and it has. My sister-in-law who also experienced lost pregnancy shared that she always thinks of her never born baby as an angel who is always with her. This idea helps me too.

Through the years, I’ve wondered how I would ever have managed to raise a son to be strong yet kind, powerful yet aware, brave yet generous in the tumult of this millennium. What a daunting task that would have been. How to raise men in times like this? I’ve written three novels with young male protagonists navigating a culture that condones, and even encourages male violence, just trying to consider that very question.

Here’s the thing about the loss of my second pregnancy: the love I had for the baby-to-be stayed with me. It grew.

I teach rhetoric and composition. If you’re thinking the scene in my classroom looks anything like one of those inspirational teacher movies, stop it. I spend my days nagging other people’s kids to write and revise and for the love of God keep up with the reading.

My students have their own moms. Their own moms are amazing. They don’t need me to be Mom. They need me to remind them to avoid passive voice and to please keep up with the reading.

But the love I had for my baby that was never born never went anywhere. And last week, the week of the day when a line of tall, strong, shy, kind boys invited me to stand on the field with them before their championship game, would have been the week of that baby’s eighteenth birthday.

Whose jersey was I wearing? I was wearing the jersey of all of the young men entering adulthood at my school who play and live with wide open hearts. Their work ethic, spirit for fun, and love for their teammates inspire me more than they can know.

I hope that if I would have had my boy, he would have been just like them.


  1. Sharon Thomas

    Maureen- This is just such a lovely and poignant story. I have welled up with tears every time I have read it. Thank you for sharing it. Love Sharon

    Sent from my iPhone


    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for reading, amazing mother of a wonderful son.


  2. I don’t actually know what to say about this post. It’s too much. Even when these is loss in your life, you find the synergy and the magic of it. I want to do that, too. I think I may need to pay attention much more than I do. Thank you for sharing, friend. (These are six of the most stilted sentences ever written. But know that I was actually brimming with emotion when I wrote them.)

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Nothing about you is stilted. You are one of the most elegant, glamorous people I’ve ever met, and to have you for a reader is too much for me. 🙂 Love you, beautiful artist.


  4. Dang. #teachergoals

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Thank you, Maureen. Your openness, connecting to the collective memory/spirit is a gift to all of us.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You, goddess mother of such wonderful sons. I bow to you.


  6. Janis L. Haag

    Can I just say how moved I was by this piece? And so pleased to call you a new friend, Maureen. I particularly love lines like: “They need me to remind them to avoid passive voice and to please keep up with the reading.” They so do, but they also need and seem to love you cheering them on… not just in English class but in life. Bravo, fine teacher!!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This means more than you know, coming from you. Thank you.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Julianne Woodside

    Jan posted this, so people you don’t know can read it and be moved by your compassion, your clarity and your courage. Thank you for sharing this awesome piece.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for reading and for the wonderful remarks. Thank you.


  8. G.G. Andrew

    This was so moving to read. Thank you for sharing!


  9. Chills. A series of chills. Oh damn you’re so good at everything you do. Beautiful, Maureen.


  10. “Whose jersey was I wearing? I was wearing the jersey of all of the young men entering adulthood at my school who play and live with wide open hearts.” So much magic in your post. Not only do you have an angel at your side, you are also an angel at the side of so many young men. Thank you for sharing Maureen. You remind me of all that is good in this world. 😇

    Liked by 1 person

    1. What a lovely thing to say. Thank you so much for reading and commenting. These are kids of my heart and that’s the truth. Getting ready to say goodbye as graduation looms. I’m so happy for them! The next generation is truly wonderful.

      Thank you again. Your reading my work is an honor.

      Liked by 1 person

  11. It is amazing… an absolute gift you have, to be able to express in word form, the sincerity of your heart that everyone appreciates. You are THE magical Maureen. This piece touched my heart. Thank you for who you are to my sons, and really, to everyone around you! Your interactions with them are passed along to the next person and truly makes this world a more pleasant, peaceful and smiley place.


    1. Don’t you know that you and your family are nothing but a blessing in my life? So grateful to you, so inspired by you. Thank you.


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