Stiff-Arm Like a Mom

For twelve years, my son played football, including a couple of years in college. I missed only one game.

And yet, I know almost nothing about football.

My husband and son love to tease me about that.

After all those hours in the stands, how can I still not understand the game?

Bantam Football: Thibodaux Hurricanes

They don’t get it.

My son was the quarterback. I wasn’t watching football. I was watching him.

Did the receiver catch the ball? I could only tell by the crowd's reaction, cheers or groans.

But I always noticed a late hit.

I could tell by how he stood. Quick and confident, or slow and shaken, if he’d be sore that night.

I could read his mood by how he jogged back to the huddle.

If something hurt, I saw it in the micro-adjustments of his arm, his leg, his stance.

He wasn’t one for flashy celebrations, but I knew when he was happy with a play.

I knew when he wasn’t.

Edward Douglas White Catholic High School: Cardinals

Because I wasn’t focused on the game, I was focused on my baby.

I didn’t ignore the rest of the team. I cared if they won. But my heart was on the field with one player, the one dodging 300-pound linemen trying to take his head off. (And yes, I still hold a grudge or two against those “punks” who smashed him. They’re lucky I don’t have names and addresses. I’m only kind of joking. LOL)

So, when my son asks, “Mom, how can you know so little about football after all those games?”

I tell him, “Because I never cared about football. I cared about you.”

That hasn’t changed.

These days, the pain isn’t physical. But I still see it—in a short text, in a long pause, in a quiet voice.

I pray for my sons WAY more than I pray for myself.

And honestly? I know I’m not the only one.

That’s what moms do, right?

We stiff-arm life and do our level best to protect our children from the sacks, the tackles, the late hits, and the heartbreaks. (Even when they're adults!)

Beloit College: Buccaneers

 We celebrate their touchdowns, and we try to help them recover from fumbling.

We remind them that one bad play doesn’t end the game and that a lost game isn’t a lost season.

Because if God gives them another glorious day on this earth, that’s a first down.

Meaning:

There’s still time.

There’s still hope.

There’s still a chance.

We may not always know the rules, but trust me, we know the game.

We moms know what matters.

Who’s apologizing or embarrassed about that? Not me!