Humorous Mothering Stories: The Football Field Fumble
The Beginning of an Unforgettable Season
Have you ever had the experience of being a well-intentioned mom who, although well intentioned, was so far off base that your failure was absolutely breathtaking in its absurdity? Then later, much later, you looked backed and roared with laughter at the magnitude of your ridiculousness? If so, I’d love to hear your story. Here is mine.
He was my firstborn, my tiny baby, my beginnings in every way, and suddenly he was headed into middle school. But far more important than middle school, he was starting his first season of the all-consuming, macho world of football.
He’d FINALLY arrived!
His excitement was infectious but also gut wrenching.
Daily Rituals and Rainy Revelations
So began my daily ritual of sitting at the side of the field, watching practice after practice, holding my breath every time he was hit and discreetly giving the thumbs up every time he nonchalantly looked my way.
Until the day it began to rain.
By practice, it had turned into a fairly decent downpour and when I dropped him off, I naively thought they would call it a day.
Man, did I ever have A LOT to learn about football!
He jumped out of the car, looking like he had suddenly gained two years of growth in 20 minutes: helmet on, pads stretching his shoulders to twice his waist size, his legs looking way beefier than they actually were.
He slapped his helmet several times, pumped his fist in the air, grinned really big and vanished into the rain and crowd of look-alike football warriors.
The Misstep of a Football Mom
I drove home and began supper.
By the time the rest of us sat down to eat, it was raining so hard you couldn’t see across the yard.
I quietly got up, rummaged around for the largest raincoat I could find (how else do you fit football pads into rain gear?) and headed back to the football field.
By now, if you have ANY football experience, you are groaning and thinking- you didn’t!
Yes, I did.
I waded across that football field scanning helmet after helmet, looking for that one identifiable sticker on the back.
It was raining so hard that I had to walk right out into the middle of the field in order to see anything. Yet, like any loving mother, I persisted, blissfully ignorant of the fact that there weren’t other loving mothers wading by my side.
A Moment of Shock and Laughter
They were in the all-important huddle, arms wrapped around each other’s necks, listening to Coach yelling his head off and telling them all the things they weren’t good at.
That alone can make a mother’s blood absolutely boil and mine began to head in that direction. Coach was carrying on, working himself into the final crescendo, when he happened to look up.
Oh, if I had only had a camera!
The shock almost sent him into cardiac arrest.
Through sheets of rain, he saw a woman, rain pouring down her face, hair hanging in her scrunched up eyes, wading through ‘his’ field with eyes which were scanning his boys and, unbelievably, she was holding up a raincoat!
Reflections and Roars of Laughter
For, yes, I had finally spotted my firstborn.
If I thought the coach’s face registered shock, then the look on my sons was utterly indescribable!
I think he was hoping if he turned his back, he’d find I was really safe at home cooking his supper. However, like many bad dreams, this one wasn’t going away, and it was holding up a raincoat and calling his name!
At the time, I was dimly aware that I’d just trespassed on something very sacred, but only just dimly.
It wasn’t until years later, when my football experience and knowledge had increased substantially, that I could really appreciate the enormity of my naivete on all its levels.
Much to my son’s credit, he graciously continued to identify me as his mother and I, having sensed that although I’d set out on a well-intentioned errand, I’d actually blundered into the realm of the ridiculous, rarely ventured close to the practice field again.
I eventually learned that any broken arm, or leg, was just the price one paid for the thrill of being yelled at by loud mouth coaches, being rammed to the ground by guys twice your size and by the utter intoxication of finally sending one of those big brutes flying with a perfectly placed knee block.
Just before he left for the summer, I reminded my son of this experience and we enjoyed roars of laughter as we shook our heads at the ludicrousness of such a tale! I’ve been laughing ever since.
I’d love to hear your humorous mothering stories!
Please leave it in the comments below, or email me at Sarah@herheartathome.com
Until next time,
Sarah
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