As I glance out the windows, I can see the Jr. High football team(s) practicing across the street.
They’re in uniform this afternoon and look so grown-up. I think they must be scrimmaging.
I’m feeling conflicted.
Several weeks ago, the teenager said, he was “going to join the football team. “
I said, “Oh-no you’re not!”
Football—in my book—is one of those more injury prone sports.
[Forget all the face masks and mouth guards basketball players wear!]
The teenager insisted he was going to join the team—that is, until he learned he would have to attend his first practice at 7:00 A.M., this past Monday morning, and at which point he had a total change of heart.
I thought I would feel a sense of relief, which I do—sort of.
As I watch the boys gather and practice, a part of me wishes my teenager was out there, running around, communing and bonding with his fellow schoolmates. [He decided to switch schools and attend the Jr. High this year, and while he does have friends who attend, he still will be a new kid.]
Then the afternoon storms move in, the wind picks up and the rain—maybe—starts to fall and, I think better of it.
Once the lighting moves in, though, I’m all for his change of heart.
Besides, basketball season isn’t that far off after all.
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