Cousin Cecelia is named in partial tribute to my Irish mother, is the daughter of my sainted Aunt Peggy, and has been a notable church organist and piano teacher for decades in the St. James area.
Back in 2000, her youngest son, Dustin, qualified for the state wrestling tournament at Target Center, and I was able to take a seat for his first match on Cecelia's left, with husband John on her right.
This kind and generous mom was clearly nervous in the minutes leading to the match. Then, the 130-pounders started their combat, and Cecelia went loony tunes. She became a precursor to Donald Trump losing an election.
"Are all wrestling moms like that?" I asked Brandon Paulson, the wunderkind of Minnesota wrestling 30 years ago, and Olympic silver medalist in Greco Roman in 1996, on Thursday.
Paulson laughed slightly and said: "A voice shouting 'NO! Brandon' is a memorable sound for me. That was my mother, Sherry. And now I have a nephew wrestling, and if she's allowed to be there when wrestling starts one of these days, Grandma Sherry will be shouting commands to him."
A below-radar phenomenon during the past decade has been the growth in girls' and women's wrestling. There are now 28 states (not yet Minnesota) that have sanctioned girls' wrestling as a high school varsity sport. The number of collegiate programs (including JUCOs) was due to grow to 80 this winter, although with only two in Division 1 — Sacred Heart in Connecticut and Presbyterian in North Carolina.
Here in Minnesota, we have a youthful star perhaps on the same Olympic path as Paulson in Emily Shilson, 19. She is a sophomore in the Augsburg program, the school that brought back collegiate wrestling to Minnesota in 2019, 15 years after Minnesota-Morris (the nation's women's wrestling original in 1996) dropped the sport.
This got me wondering: How are the wrestling moms who have lost their minds watching sons, the kid that ate dirt as a nutritional supplement, going to handle watching a daughter that was too bright for such behavior?