Once August hits, our Friday night plans are set—hopefully well into November. Friday nights once meant packing the diaper bag, loading four little kids into the minivan, making sure we had enough concession stand money, and tossing extra clothes and blankets into the car, because Friday night football weather in the Chicagoland area is never truly predictable.
As my kids have grown out of diaper bags and car seats, our pride and excitement for their dad—and our coach—have only grown stronger.
Having Dad coach at the local high school now means walking to home games with a few of the kids’ friends tagging along, arriving early for the JV game, and watching our oldest daughter cheer on the sideline. It’s a new layer of excitement for our family on Friday nights. Most weeks include a volunteer shift at the concession stand, where our own kids inevitably sneak a Gatorade or a slice of pizza before heading off to find Grandma and Grandpa—who, of course, are at every game.
Everywhere I look, I see familiar faces, including students of mine. There are hugs and high fives, and a shared excitement as families come together for one purpose under the Friday night lights. There’s a special kind of buzz that comes from watching students play football, cheer on the sidelines, perform at halftime, march in the band, help manage the team—or simply gather with parents hoping to catch a glimpse of their own high schooler in the student section with friends.
We settle in for the JV game, then stretch our legs and prepare for the energy of Varsity, when Dad takes the field to coach. Everyone is decked out in team gear, just as they have been since 7 a.m. Game-day apparel starts first thing in the morning and doesn’t come off until the lights go out. The kids all know—Friday means Mustang gear. I move between watching the game in the stands with friends and family and inevitably retreating to pace the sidelines, because the stress of being an onlooker—especially as the coach’s wife—is far too hard to sit still.
There are moments during the season when the laundry pile becomes its own piece of furniture, when a family dinner with all six of us feels like a distant memory, or when exhaustion settles into my husband’s face as he watches film at the kitchen island, reheating a dinner made hours earlier. These are the moments when I question it all—when fourteen-plus-hour days pull him away, when I pick up the slack at home, give everything I have at work during the start of the school year, manage the chaos of the calendar, and still show up on Friday night ready to watch him pour everything he has onto the field once again. I do wonder how many more years of pep I have left to keep doing this.
And then there’s a Friday night win.
Watching parents beam with pride as their child makes a play, gains confidence, and has their moment under the lights makes every long week worth it. A Friday night win is priceless—but knowing the countless hours poured into the sport makes it even sweeter. For me, it’s the quiet walk back toward the locker room, when my husband can finally catch his breath, that brings a sense of relief only a coach’s wife truly understands.
Even the losses serve a purpose. They build a resilience that only a coach’s family truly knows. The disappointment lingers briefly, but almost immediately it’s time to shake it off—because if anything, the work is about to increase, not slow down.
When the season finally comes to a close, we take down the décor, open Friday nights back up on the calendar, and feel a sense of relief as the coaching chaos begins to settle. Dad isn’t gone seven nights a week heading into the winter months—although, as only a coach’s family understands, football is always on his mind, and planning for the next season is already underway. Seniors say their goodbyes to the game, reflections are shared on the highs and lows, and I convince my husband to leave it on the field and take a well-deserved moment to rest.
I say yes to a Friday night girls’ get-together, look forward to a Saturday with Dad around to help with the endless driving, and a Sunday that doesn’t involve hours of film. And yet, there’s a part of me that already misses it.
Another thing only a coach’s wife can truly understand.
**This space is about supporting the women behind the sidelines. We’ve created a few favorite wear-on-repeat pieces inspired by this life, just in case you want to check them out!**