By DAVE O’SULLIVAN Publisher This is a true story, and one that has taken on a bit of a comical tone through the prism of time. As a junior in high school, I was playing in a summer league baseball game. Back in the late 1980s, there wasn’t much care devoted to baseball infield upkeep, especially in the summer. At times weeks would go by before the field even got dragged. So there I was playing shortstop and this big lefty from Lakewood was up at the plate. He ripped a ground ball right at me. In the few seconds I had to react, I knew I was either going to make the play look easy as pie, or it was going to hit me in the face. It hit me in the face. Knocked me unconscious briefly, and smacked one of my front teeth out of my mouth. Now, you have to understand, I was incredibly shy in high school, barely saying two words to my parents, much less teammates or classmates. But when I came to, sat up and spit my tooth out on the infield dirt, I let loose a stream of obscenities that would have made the father in “A Christmas Story” proud. My mother, Noreen, a devout Catholic, was mortified. Other mothers gawked at her thinking, “is that your boy? The one who never says anything?” Mom probably didn’t even know I knew all of those words, but I couldn’t help it. It was like an out-of-body experience. I was mostly mad that I didn’t make the play, and that the coach would probably take me out of the game. Which he did, even though I told him it was no big deal, just a tooth. What’s the point of this story? Well, it’s that my mom was there. At a summer league game, putting up with the heat despite having seven other children to tend to. (OK, well, most of my siblings are older than me, so by that time there wasn’t much tending needed, but still, she was there. I’m sure there were plenty of other places she would have rather been on a hot summer afternoon.) My mother was always there. Until one day she wasn’t. 
Noreen O’Sullivan, mom of Glory Days Magazine publisher Dave O’Sullivan, raised eight children before passing away in August of 1995, and now there are 17 grandchildren in the family. (O’Sullivan family photo) I got a call in the afternoon on August 11, 1995, while living in North Carolina, that my mother had passed away in her sleep due to a sudden heart attack. It was less than a week after I had packed up and moved south. She was just 58 years old. Life was different after that. In time, great memories replaced the grief myself and my siblings felt. My father died less than three years later. I never expected to be 25 years old and have no parents, but life doesn’t always go the way you expect it will. Losing Mike and Noreen was tough on everyone in my family, but they did their job well in raising us. Of their eight children, seven earned college degrees, and their love and dedication to our family has helped it grow to include their 17 grandchildren, and even now a couple of great grandchildren. I remember what it was like to be in high school. You get wrapped up in your class work, sports, trying to figure out a way to ask out that cute girl in science class without making yourself look like a complete fool. When you are 15 or 16 years old, you’re pretty self absorbed. And that’s OK. That’s how it has been for thousands of years. Only in time do you begin to realize how much your parents sacrifice of their own lives to support your ambitions. I see it now every day when I’m out covering high school games. Parents rushing from work to an away game 20 miles away, cameras in hand. A quick change from a shirt and tie to a T-shirt with their son’s or daughter’s school logo emblazoned on it. As an athlete, you get so used to seeing your mom or dad, or both, at a game that it’s kind of weird when circumstances force them to miss a game or two. So, this Mother’s Day, just a quick reminder to all the high school athletes out there. Hug your mother. She deserves it, and even a small gesture like that will brighten her day. Contact Dave O’Sullivan: sully@acglorydays.com; on Twitter @GDsullysays [adsense]
Mother’s Day commentary: High school athletes, take a moment and hug your mama
