My son is playing tackle football.
Yes, that same one (and only) who wouldn’t want to hurt a fly and who was too shy to look an adult in they eye until last year.
And I’m gonna go ahead and let you in on something I was clueless about: football isn’t like the other sports we’ve tried out around here. None of that practice once or twice a week for an hour and games on Saturday stuff. We’ve come to find out that football is serious business. Parents have to be at all practices. (Like for four to seven hours a week…I thank my lucky stars we have an awesome carpool.) They need birth certificates and approval from doctors. The boys need pads and mouth-guards. They have to be at most of the games three hours early to warm up and practice their “plays” (and I’m not exaggerating). Max comes back from practice sweating like nobody’s business.
They want my non-aggressive child to go hit people and throw them to the ground.
And guess what? He loves it.
And then more aggression here (he’s in the middle in an arm-lock with the blue guy):
And I love this move (he’s the one grabbing that blue guy with the ball to take him down):
Unfortunately this was the aftermath of that shot:But hey, I’m so proud of him for getting in there and working it on the field.
Max has a good cheering section on the sidelines to help him out:
Some don’t pay as much attention to the game…but at least they’re not screaming:
This is my date I get to sit by:
I still can’t believe my son is doing this!
I’m proud of him.
…and all these sports pros:
And I love watching David with them after the games.
He’s a good Dad.