The Midnight Whistle: A Lacrosse Mom’s Christmas Tale
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the yard,
Not a net was unstrung, not a stick without guard.
The cleats were lined up by the door with great care,
In hopes that no dog would drag them elsewhere.
The snow softly fell on the lawn down below,
A perfect white blanket, a shimmering glow.
The kids were nestled all snug in their beds,
While dreams of big faceoffs danced in their heads.
And I in my hoodie, with coffee gone cold,
Had just sat down for a break (truth be told).
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew with my stick,
Sure I’d just seen the flash of St. Stick.
The moon on the snow, with its silvery light,
Lit up the goalposts that gleamed in the night.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a lacrosse-filled sleigh and eight reindeer.
With a driver so skilled, he was quick with a flick,
I knew in a moment, it must be St. Stick.
More rapid than dodgers, his players they came,
And he cheered and he whistled and called them by name:
“Now Shooter! Now Dodger! Now Cradler and Passer!
On Middie! On Goalie! On Defender and Dasher!
To the top of the goal! To the crease for a play!
Now scoop it and pass it and fire away!”
Like snowballs that fly in a fierce winter storm,
The players zipped past, all in perfect form.
Up to the rooftop, their sticks in the air,
I ran to the door to see who was there.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The pounding of cleats and the thud of a hoof.
As I stepped outside and looked all around,
Down through the snow came St. Stick with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, with gloves that did gleam,
And his stick was the finest I’d ever seen.
A bag full of balls he had slung on his back,
And he looked like a coach, ready to attack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His helmet—so merry!
His laugh was as warm as a mug full of cherry.
The tape on his stick was as white as the snow,
And his pocket was strung for a perfect tight throw.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his drills,
And filled all the stockings with grip tape and thrills.
Then, patting my shoulder with a grin so polite,
He said, “Keep hustling, Mom; you’re doing all right.”
And laying his finger aside of his hat,
He turned to the team, now done with their chat.
They sprang to his sleigh, and they gave him a cheer,
And away they all flew—it was the perfect clear.
But I heard him exclaim as they rose out of sight,
“Merry Christmas lacrosse moms, you’re doing things right!”
Want to join a special group of moms who can walk the line between cool and crazy? Look no further. Register your kid today at www.butleryouthlacrosse.com, and let’s make this the season your child discovers their new favorite sport.
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Article by Erin Schollaert: Looking to connect with a business teacher, entrepreneur, and writer who thrives on creativity and results? Explore my LinkedIn bio for insights into my work, passion for learning, and drive to make things happen. Let’s collaborate, connect, and create something great! |
