An Ode To The Urban Warrior, The Soccer Mom

I love the idea of the urban rebel. The type of person that may have a killer job in the computer industry or something but you’d never know it. You see these people in Los Angeles all the time and I always wonder where they are headed to. Are they going to work or a really awesome rave?

It’s really cool when I see them on the freeway. Of course they are wearing a helmet because they are cool and don’t play games with their lives. They are going down the open road with their laptop computer bags flapping in the wind in a cool designer color or some soft leather or canvas.

As I drive up to them I glimpse design tattoos on his arm that give him just the right amount of flair without being obtrusive. Of course this guy has tattoos, he’s a rebel and he just doesn’t care. He probably bit a bullet while they were inking him.

How cool it would be to be on a bike. But my speed is more of an off road Yamaha ATV. Besides how would I fit all these kids on the back of my bike? Yes, I am a soccer mom and there is no way I could fit all my kid’s stuff on that bike.

Yes, that is the plight of the soccer mom. And that is what I am. I ride the open road in a mini van and the only tattoo I have is a parrot from a cereal box. I am normal, average and everyday.

My chosen profession is not a lonely one. I am never alone. And I see the warriors beside me on the freeway in their own quest to reach the next destination in time. We race from light to light to get to the bakery, the drugstore and of course the sacred Starbucks line. We wear our shields of denim proudly and walk with ease in our sensible shoes. We are always prepared with snacks and wet naps to handle any dilemma.

Yes we are the proud, the many, the unafraid mothers of America who will go into battle over a parking spot or sit for hours to support a little league. We will put our own selves to the side to sell nuts at Christmas and love our children with all we have. We are a proud growing race that will live on to the next Mother’s day knowing we are important, respected and most likely have a stain on our shirts.

So as I pass the urban rebel in the lane next to me my hats off to him. He lives a life singleness and danger around every corner. With his bag blowing in the wind behind him he secretly knows how tough I am. I lead a life that he would not dare to lead.