It’s football season again. The CFL is in full swing. The NFL is underway. And the highschool games start this week. The husband is coaching the boy’s team. It’ll be nice to be attending one game each week, and able to sit on one side with the school crowd, instead of down the center line quietly cheering on both.
But the season brings to mind what brought me to football in the first place. It’s a long, but funny story. I decided to revisit it. And in reading it, the memories flooded back, along with streams of tears as I now laugh at what was actually quite a traumatic, and recurring, experience. I share it with you now in the spirit of football.
Because, if you have a football guy in your house, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about!!
Playing Football Like Mom
The boys play their first football game today.
This is a milestone, according to the Dad. A right of passage. One small step onto the field, one giant leap into manhood. This is where we’ll see what metal they’re made of. They will come home changed, having hunted and conquered. Ah Ha Ha!
The amount of testosterone that walked out the door this morning could have raised the Goodyear blimp!
I hope they play their best. I hope they have fun. I hope they don’t get hurt…
It’s probably my own fault they’re even interested in football. I was the one who started the family football pool for Grey Cup and SuperBowl to get the kids to actually watch the games with Dad. He’s a football kind of guy – played offensive line in his single days. Had a tryout with the Tiger Cats. But I was saddened when playoffs started and he had to watch alone. I would watch with him, but couldn’t really get past the fantasy of the tight shiny football pants. Maybe if I had opted for a beer over wine coolers my company would have been enough for him. But instead, he watched alone, yelling at the television with no one to care or hear. A one man cheering section. (…more)