It was a grueling game of one-on-one basketball. The ball swooshed into the basket once and then twice and even though the rebounds bounced on a driveway instead of a court, the sound of the crowd cheering and chanting could be heard. Except, it wasn¡¯t a crowd. It was a 40-year old mom pretending thousands of fans were cheering her on as she gained points on her 14-year old son who for 30 minutes, gave her his time, his laughter, his competitive spirit and a rigorous workout.

In reality, the crowd was nowhere to be found, but as my son scored his last basket in the driveway this evening, I couldn¡¯t help but feel like I had won. He seemed pleased with himself for the 10-point lead and even my insistence that hugging him while blocking a shot was not a foul, he didn¡¯t seem irritated with me ¡¦ for once.

It was a rare moment. On most days, I¡¯m lucky to get a grunt from my quiet, moody teenagers. They retreat to their rooms after dinner, only coming down to remind me that they need lunch money or a PE uniform washed by the next morning. When I inquire about their day, they seem irritated with me, even bothered at times.

At first, I took it personally. I mean, I¡¯m cool, right? I know all the lyrics to the Top 40 songs on the radio and I have no problem singing loud and proud in the car. Then I realized that maybe, just maybe, no matter what I know or who I am, they are going to be annoyed with me because, I¡¯m the parent. I¡¯m mom. I¡¯m not cool in their eyes.

And, they are teenagers.

So, I¡¯ve learned to stay involved and I continue to ask questions, but I¡¯m trying not to invade their privacy, their time and their definition of cool. I still demand we have family dinners and that we say good morning and good night. But, I don¡¯t force them to spend time with me, as much as I want to.

When we returned from dinner tonight, I fully expected my son to join the neighborhood kids down the street in a game of basketball or retreat to his room and close the door. But instead, when I grabbed the basketball and made a few lousy shots, he joined me, challenged me to a game and proceeded to give me just enough of a lead to build my confidence and then ultimately smash out a 10 point lead to a hearty win.

I didn¡¯t question why he chose to play basketball in the driveway with his mom. I didn¡¯t embarrass him by singing along to the music playing. And, I didn¡¯t beg him to play a game with me every night. Instead, I soaked in the time he was giving me, cherished it and prayed that time would stand still. The game did end, but the memories never will.