Category: Life

So where, exactly, did this month go? Lately, it’s been football this night, soccer that night, swimming and guitar the other night…and even a few bouts with cotillion (which is rumored to have something to do with manners and chivalry. Given the son of mine that’s taking part in it, I’d say we paid too much.) The eldest was involved in a double-overtime football game with the cross-town rival. Beautiful weather, packed stadium. Police presence in full force. The winning team assured of home field advantage in the first round of the state playoffs. It’s the scenario you dream about as a player and as a dad. Sadly, Nick came up a point short. The youngest, Charles Henry, was tabbed to be the keeper in the overtime penalty kick phase in round one of the city’s Under 7 soccer playoffs. He, also, fared not so well. Nick is 17, Charles Henry is 7. Different ages, different maturity levels, and different life experiences. Same result. Heartache. But short lived. Nick just needed a reassuring hand on the back and space to digest the loss. Charles Henry, a few bear hugs and some candy. Boom. All good. I know life will become more complicated for these boys as they venture into manhood and the stakes for parental provision will surely be much higher.

This time of year, Friday night means substandard concession stand cheeseburgers and high school football. And I love it. Last Friday, the family road-tripped north to watch my oldest play. He had 80 yards on 9 carries with 2 touchdowns. (Auburn’s looking at him at QB and RB. They’re not, really, but maybe they should.) I digress. So, on the way home, and just as the kids were settling in for a quiet ride, my youngest offered, “Christmas is just like Saturday, but way different.” They all jumped back into conversation at that point, and I never learned the context of his declaration. Therefore, I’ll make it up.

When I was a kid, we weren’t put in “timeout” when we messed up. Nope. We were put in harm’s way – in the form of a spanking, that is. Now I may lose a few of you here, but I just don’t think a mischievous 7-year old’s going to learn much from being removed from the baseball game in order to reflect on the feelings of his victim.

“Billy, how do you think Sean feels after you hit him with that rock?!” Mom demanded.

“Well, judging from his tears, I’d say pretty bad,” Billy proudly replied.