Mom wrestles with son's ideas

My oldest son came home with a cap and gown, a prestigious diploma, and an announcement.

"Mom, I've decided what I want to be."

"Mom, I'm going to be a professional wrestler."

"You're what?" I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

"Yeah. I'm built for it, I know all the moves. I've even got a name picked out. M.T.M.T. (Mike, the Ironman, Turner)."

Suddenly it all made sense. Why, Instead of having an imaginary friend, he'd had an imaginary enemy. Why he was always flinging himself against the wall and jumping on our guests.

Now I understood why he had been lifting weights in the garage, while claiming he was too tired and sore to lift a finger around the house with the chores, and why he was always picking me and his little sister up and throwing us over his shoulder.

Perhaps that was why he was always "fighting" with his brother.

But what about me? Didn't I have any say in his life? Didn't feeding, diapering, and clothing him account for something?

"Son," I said, "Think about what your are doing. I'm going to give you some practice to see if that is what your really want to do with your life. Go downstairs and wrestle with the laundry. Then go outside and wrestle with the dog because he's got his chain wrapped tightly around the pole again. Then come back in here and pin down the roast that needs cooking. Then make a move on the dirty dishes."

"Okay, Mom, I get the picture."

I smiled then and really looked at my strong, handsome son. "Speaking of pictures, I'm going to take one of you right now," I told him as I grabbed a camera.

"Aw, Mom."

"Make a pose now. Flex those muscles. Look the Iron Man that your are."

"Really"?

"Why, yes, I want to take a picture of a champion."

My son is a champion and no one could ever wrestle that knowledge away from me.