To the big boys

An open letter to the big boys in shoulder pads...

 

My little guy is gonna be joining you on the field this year.  When I say little, I mean 70 pounds.  Compared to most of you (especially the 6th graders), he's downright small.  He feels so big, so tough and macho in his pads and helmet.  He's put his gear on at least 4 times already today and it isn't even noon. 

 

As his mom, I've got an instinct to protect him from pain.  My heart broke when the doctor took him away for circumcision after his birth.  The way I gently wiped the crust off his eyes with warm water as a newborn due to blocked tear ducts.  The day I urgently drove him to the walk-in clinic insisting on x-rays for a bowel blockage (which he didn't have).   The night I took him to the E.R. for an ear infection (which was a mild case).  And the afternoon he came home and I let him hide in the bushes after he punched Brody in the face were desperate examples of that maternal urge to protect.

 

And I was there to comfort him whether he was hurt, sick or scared.  Just as I hope your mom was there for you.  But he's different.  He's mine.   

 

So now I'm preparing to watch you intentionally knock him down and plow him over.  You'll block his throws and be the cause of bruises, sore muscles, pain, exhaustion, discouragement and nerves.  I can't blame you for that.  He's the one who wants to play with you.  Your coaches and parents will praise you for your hits and tackles, your interceptions and your blocks.  That's what football's about; I get it.

 

Yet the urge to protect has not diminished with age.  In fact, when I see you preparing to plow into my boy, I can't resist wanting to trip you.  Once he gets a little bigger, I'll get over it... really.

 

My little guy is gonna be on the field with you this year.  Please don't hurt him too bad.  Once in a while let him hit you.  Don't laugh at him when he doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing or gets distracted with his mouthpiece.  Don't intercept every one of his passes. 

 

Don't break him.

 

One day he'll probably be bigger than you.  And his mama doesn't forget a thing...