Set...hike...we're done

About three weeks ago Alex told me he thought he’d like to play football in the fall. Two things happened. 1.) My heart soared because I LOVE football!!! 2.) I secretly flipped out because I just couldn’t imagine him being coordinated and focused enough to keep from getting killed.

I reasoned with myself that Peyton Manning is tall and thinish, kind of like Alex. You have to run really fast in football and Alex can most certainly do that. We might be okay. I certainly wasn’t going to keep him from trying something that interested him.

Monday we were at ballet and one of the other moms mentioned her son had football camp this week. I remembered Annie mentioning the same camp, but the week snuck up on me and I failed to register Alex. The mom, she has a name and it’s Chandy, encouraged me to just show up and see if we couldn’t register on the spot. It was a free camp, so what did I have to loose?

Alex was game for camp crashing and while I was a little nervous about just showing up unregistered, it quickly became apparent the high school football coach who runs the camp wasn’t all that concerned about forms and waivers.

There were probably upwards of 250 boys and you know how good I am with math and spatial reasoning, so I’m sure that’s completely accurate. The coach lined up the boys, barked off drill assignments and put them through the paces for the next hour and a half. It was like a well-oiled machine and the boys were very serious.

Alex was not at all serious. He fiddled around with the draw string on his shorts. He fake punched the boy in front of him repeatedly, which turned out to be our neighbor kid. He jumped the line several times only to be rightfully shoved back to his spot. He did everything except watch the drill. When his turn rolled around he acted like a deer in headlights and missed every thrown football.

I wasn’t surprised by his lack of coordination, but the total lack of composure drove me crazy. I was voicing my frustrations out-loud, under my breath, and Meredith said, “Mom, you should go out there and tell him to ‘focus.’” No kidding, Merdi.

Once I loaded Alex into the car, I told him I didn’t think he was mature enough to play football and if he wanted to come back to the camp, he’d better commit himself to paying attention and not screwing around. I thought he’d say something like, “I will! I was just so excited to learn the game, I couldn’t stand still!!!” Instead he said, “Yeah, I think you’re right. Maybe I’ll try playing when I’m nine.”

Then came the guilt. Maybe I should leave him in the camp and he will learn focus? Did I crush his spirit? Did I destroy the small amount of confidence he had about the game? So as I was putting Alex to bed I reassured him I supported him fully and if he wanted to continue with football camp he should, that I hadn’t meant to discourage him. He looked at me and said, “No, actually all I wanted was a mouth-guard. That’s why I wanted to play football, so I could have one.” Gross! Why would anyone want a mouth-guard?!

I think we’re destined for the debate team. And really, I’m okay with that.