For the very first time, my first-born, precious, smart, sweet, kind-hearted, sensitive son suited up.
Not for church. Or a wedding.
But for football.
Yes, tackle football.
Helmet, pads, mouth guard, back plate, cleats. All of it.
Ever since, it's been the Tale of Two Moms playing out on the gridiron inside my own brain.
"YES, yes, YESSSSSSSSS, that's my son!" screams Mom #1, as he rushes the ball 40+ yards down the field.
"NO, no, NOOOOOOO, don't touch my boy! Get off him. YOU'RE GONNA HURT HIM!" from Mom #2.
One part of me rationalizes this decision to let him play. They get hurt in basketball and soccer too.
But then again, they're not deliberately shoving each other down in those sports either.
Then, his coach tells me how he proves himself a strong player every day at practice, bringing his "A" game and setting a good example. And the mama bear in me is so proud. But then, I watch as two fellow players suffer a broken arm and a broken leg, respectively, at this week's junior varsity and varsity games.
I watch as their "team" takes shape, all suffering when one players is in trouble; celebrating triumph upon a win. I hear their nicknames, "J-Boogie," for my young son, "Sunny D," for one of his very best friends. Mom #1 beams, amazed at the power of their combined effort and their pride.
Then, Mom #2 screams, what are you doing here???? Have you not read the studies???? I mean, his brain is rapidly developing. He turns 12 in a couple months. It seems pretty basic that he shouldn't be banging heads with other kids the same age, right? Concussions, CTE, vulnerability to brain conditions, Google goes on and on and on.
How do I reconcile these two voices? The one that knows the risk, with the one who lets him play anyway, even cheering from the sidelines when he's on the field?
I will share a few personal notes.
First, his father and I did NOT let him play until now. We looked into flag football, but we quickly saw the boys tackling anyway, and we screamed a resounding, "no." But over time, our son asked repeatedly for a chance to play. He wanted to try it. We also noticed his love for the sport, as he watched college and professional athletes, ad nauseum, often researching plays and players, spouting off facts that few people could ever remember.
Second, my father played as a rookie for the Oakland Raiders in the early 1970s. I know he took hits and back then, pads and helmets weren't what they are today. He struggled later in his life. Whether or not football was a factor, we will never know (a topic I may or may not blog about here one day soon, if you'd like to hear more). Also, one of my uncles played college football, and another uncle was an NFL draft pick, but instead chose medical school. A family of football players AND brains, adding more to this very intimate struggle.
Ultimately, it's my son's path to navigate. And you don't need me to tell you, life is risk. A coin toss. As parents we simply do everything we can. But we can't control everything. At this stage, I know he is learning proper technique, is engaging on a level of greater intensity and higher physicality. Equipment technology is improving at an incredible pace. Tackle football tightens the bond between teammates.
For these reasons right now, I'm ok with the decision to let him play. But if something happens, I reserve the right to change my mind. Because isn't that what we, as parents, do? The best we can for our children, until we know better?
In the meantime, Mom #1 will be in the stands Saturday morning, screaming BIG, for her beloved #25 to play his heart out.
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