Mr. Fantastic and the boys shot FIKI footballs and laughed at the Superbowl commercials.
They flipped to other channels when scantily clad women did their thang.
They cheered and shouted when an amazing play was made.
Boy 1 walked around all night with a goofy, joy-filled light oozing from his entire being.
That kid loves football.
He hides from me now when he gets dressed. After all these years of life, modesty has become normal.
The boy asks about the political implications of bombing Yemen.
He asked what HIV was last week.
The world is opening up to him and he is moving on into who God has called him to be.
And part of who he is is football. And baseball. And hockey. And any other sport that includes a score and the possibility of winning.
I refuse to lose out in being a part of it all.
I’m glad I never cared a whit about this stuff before. My ignorance makes space for a new season in my relationship with my son.
He can be my teacher for a change. I’ll let him woo me with his joy. I’ll listen to him retell the highlights, and open my own soul up to the joy of being a fan.
This is not the year he moves beyond me.
Things will change a bit.
He may never again parade around in his underwear in front of me.
I may have to delicately explain why Africa is being ravaged by a disease.
When we read about war we will try to understand together how in the world we have come to a day when no one seems to be sure of what is actually happening.
And when he tells me he wants to join the Air Force like his uncle, I will keep on smiling and telling him I think that’s awesome. I’ll save the tears for the quiet moment that he really does board a plane headed for battle.
Today I am the one warring. I war against the message that says a mother and a son can’t love each other forever.
I pick up my shield and my sword and I fight to love football, and tanks, and who my son is becoming.
After all, I battled through three hours of pushing to bring that boy into the world. I fought through sleepless nights, sickness, and the willfulness of the toddler years.
There’s no way I’m letting go of him before I have to.
That boy won my heart a long time ago with his piercing blue eyes and cocky grin.
I won’t take it back. Not even if he tries to ditch it in a Hail Mary attempt to be cool someday.
I’ll just tuck it under my arm and push my way into the end zone.
Love will win in the end. Gah, every play of this game is the greatest highlight of my life.
