Football Season, According to a Coach’s Kid
Each day passes by slower than the last because you come home later and later. Mommy says you’ll be home soon – but she never says exactly when soon is. Soon means after dinner. After our last bedtime story. After I can’t hold my eyes open for a second longer to wait up for you.
But then Friday rolls around again. Mommy puts me in all the colors that match your school. We pack the car up like we’re going on a week’s vacation. I march proudly into the stands like I own the place (well, I like to think I do, anyway) and watch our team – all my brothers – take the field and start warming up.
My eyes stay glued to the field and though I know more than most girls my age do about the sport, I’m not watching to see what happens. I’m watching for those tiny little moments we get together. Those few seconds between huddles when you glance up at the stands and our eyes meet and you brighten up when you see me wildly waving my arms. The moments where I yell to nobody in particular, “That’s my Daddy!” I love those moments.
I get excited when the last quarter rolls around and that clock starts winding down. Mommy reminds me that football minutes are a little longer than REAL minutes. But even if my eyes are getting heavy, the excitement around me keeps my energy up.
And then before I know it, everyone else erupts into cheers. And I’m cheering, too! Not because we won, but because now comes my favorite part. I rush straight onto the field and into the arms of my favorite coach.
I miss Daddy most days, but game days? I live for game days.