It's that time of year, folks! It's the time of year when we look forward to watching our little ones trying to learn a new sport. The only thing we grandparents get more excited about is our annual physicals. At least with our physicals, we know something exciting will happen, like a colonoscopy. Just kidding.
I am, of course, referring to football season which will take up all David's every thought process for the next several weekends. He follows his favorite college football teams very closely and knows waaayy too much about each team, coaches and players but I guess it could be worse like him wanting to share this knowledge with me. I don't care! This could go on until I have him declared legally (brain) dead and proceed to live the life of a rich widow (now you know I'm lying).
Anyhoo, today, the first of many Saturday mornings to come, David and I packed up the old SUV with all the planning of a monthlong trek cross-country in a covered wagon (we oldsters require almost as much paraphernalia as toddlers when we travel) and headed off to witness our eight-year-old grandson, Zane, take his first crack at learning the game of football. Games before noon should be illegal.
The morning of the game I could tell the day would not bode well for me when the heat hit me as I stepped outside in the dark. I silently cursed our prolific family tree as I set the alarm for 5:15 a.m. (With four more grandsons awaiting their turns, this could drag on for years.) The field was an hour and a half from our home so off we went, still half asleep.
I wouldn't have minded so much but I found out AFTER we arrived and spent nearly 20 minutes getting everything out of the car with all the coordination of an Abbott & Costello skit, schlepping through the throngs of excited (translation: sleepy and grumpy) family members to find a place to set up, that this was only a scrimmage! A scrimmage that wouldn't even start until we'd been there for over an hour.
Picture this–I made the mistake of thinking that since it was so early in the morning, I'd wear jeans. I was sweating like crazy before we could get seated. David pulled out our portable misting fan and clamped it to the chair in front of us. It's a good thing the stadium wasn't very full or someone would have had a fan on their back. Ha! Ha!
There's nothing like spending a blazing hot August morning watching a bunch of grade school-aged boys running around a football field in uniforms, pads and helmets. How in the heck have they not passed out by now?
I also had an umbrella and a hand-held misting fan and still I felt like I was about to melt. Fat melts fast in this Oklahoma heat so you'd think I'd lose a few pounds, wouldn't ya? Nope.
They looked so tiny and cute down there, trying to figure out what they were supposed to be doing. With my poor eyesight, it was almost impossible for me to pick out our grandson. They resembled little helmeted ants running around with no clue as to what they were supposed to be doing. It didn't help that they had about 100 little boys, coaches, parents and siblings, running around on the field like a "Keystone Cop" movie.
(YES, that was before my time.) A coach would take one of the players, give him some instructions, the poor kid would nod and proceed to stand around looking confused then take off running. He may not have been near the ball carrier but by golly, he was Playing Football! Maybe next week they'll be allowed to run farther than 40 yards.
After all the excitement was over I asked Zane if he had fun. His answer? "I didn't sweat." Shoot, I was sweating just watching from the stands.
It was fun listening to him talk about what he learned. He is a rambunctious boy who loves to run and get physical. I can just imagine his dismay when he learned what he can't do while playing football.
Here's how a recent conversation went:
Zane: "Nana, did you know you can't bite another player?"
Nana: "Yes, Zane. Maybe that's why the helmets have those bars around them. Do you think so?"
Zane: "You can't punch anyone either."
Nana: "Well, I should hope not."
Zane: "You can't block anyone in the back either."
Nana: "That's good."
Zane: "That boy blocked me in the back."
I had no idea what to say to that. I think I'll let his dad, who played in high school, take over from here on out.