I am very sure that the game of football was not a mother’s idea. For years, we work overtime to keep our sons out of harm’s way and to teach them not to hit other kids. Then, all of a sudden, they are issued a helmet and a set of pads, and cautions and rules of civility are hiked out the window. Cody started playing tackle football this fall, and I learned that mothers don’t have a vote in this decision.
At first, I thought I was the only one having a hard time following the play and keeping track of the ball. But every other mom I talked with admitted the same difficulty. I finally figured out the problem. First of all, most women do not have the “on couch” training that their husbands have received. Also, when the game ball is hiked, a mother’s eyes do not naturally follow the oval pigskin. Her eyes are glued to her son and remain on him until she is sure that the crunch of pads and crash of helmets did not include a bone or tendon of his. It is only when a mother’s son unravels himself from the tackle and stands up to walk away without limping, that she is interested in the success of the play.
As a rule, moms may not be enthusiastic about their sons playing football, but they do end up being their most devoted fan. This fall on any given Saturday, you will find me in the bleachers keeping a close eye on #83, Cody Kimmel, Defensive End. You might want to ask someone else what the score is.
Here’s to first downs and second thoughts,
(Written in 1999)