My first born didn’t have a choice to be born to us.
He could have been born into a rich family that could give him every single thing a kid could ever want for.
He could have been born into a family where he was an only child and got all the attention.
He could have been born into a family that takes expensive vacations and takes summer and fall break trips to beautiful locations.
He could have been born into a family that owned some huge corporation and he would be groomed to one day be commanding CEO and make millions a year.
But he was born into our family.
A football family.
Where we aren’t rich monetarily but our investments are in the lives of young men.
Where he isn’t an only child; he has biological siblings but he gets 30-40 new brothers every single fall.
Where he doesn’t get expensive vacations but rather tag football in front of the field house with his buddies, a summer full of all day field house workouts and a different football field every Friday night.
Where he isn’t being groomed to be the next CEO and make millions but he just might be the next head football coach somewhere making a difference in the lives of young men every day.
He was given to us to raise.
And the man that’s raising him is having a small hand in raising a lot of other young men, too.
And mine is watching.
And he hears.
And I know he is proud to be the son of a football coach.