It's happening again. The temperatures are heading into the 80's, the daylight is stretching too close to bedtime, and the boys are dirtier than ever. The Braves are playing, grills are smoking, and Daddy has been on the tractor for the last two days.
I noticed it starting to happen yesterday, though I suspect that the season has been creeping up on us for some time. I had supper prepared-- hot meatloaf, creamy mashed potatoes, sweet carrots, three little boys, and no Daddy. He traipsed in just moments after i had set the table, little pieces of grass sticking to the ankles of his socks, tan lines where his hat had been, and the odor of grass and gasoline surrounding him. No question where he'd been, but i had to ask. "Cutting my grass." Make no mistake, Jackson County taxpayers. Your dollars may have paid for that field, but that field belongs to Daddy.
And that's how spring football starts. Field maintenance, a few coaching clinics, and some film watching from last season. Though it takes Daddy away from us more than we'd like, I like the beginning of football season, spring and fall. You see, Dads, er, coaches work their butts off during the season. a full day of practice with players and coaches, film-watching, phone calls on something new he just saw, and more film before bed. A seven day work week has to suffice only because there's no such thing as an 8 day one. So when there isn't a game on Friday to devote his time to, what's a coach to do? I'll tell you: drive his wife crazy. He brings all that energy and passion home. All of a sudden the closets need reorganizing and the gutters need to be cleaned. He's taken a keen interest in helping plan the meals he'll now be in attendance for. He wants to know if the appliances are running smoothly, does the vacuum lose suction, should we resod the yard or just add some mulch where it's needed. It's exhausting having him home after so many months of being gone. Please understand-- I LOVE my husband, i'm just unselfish enough to share him with a world that needs him: high school football.
It's not just to get Daddy out of the house that I love football season. I love football and everything associated with it. I suppose it's because I really have no other choice, but still. I was a typical football fan growing up. I caught bits and pieces of the Saints on Sundays, cheered from the bleachers on Friday nights, and generally had no idea what was going on out there. Marry football, though, and in no time I'm screaming for the ref to call clipping, praying we punt and don't go for it, and criticizing the quarterback for not reading the defense.
Forget baseball, basketball, soccer, even tennis (which i love), things just aren't right around here unless there's a game to look forward to this weekend or practices to get them ready. Less than a month from today, the players will line the field every afternoon for two weeks, running drills, memorizing plays, perfecting their blocks, tackles, and pass routes. We, the faithful families, will watch from the hill, waiting for the right play, listening for the compliments, and biding the time until the "real" season starts. When the water girls work on their August tans in between water breaks, the coaches' kids litter the sidelines, tossing balls with the "injured reserves," and the coaches watch months of work and preparation come together under a hot afternoon sun. When the spring quarterback returns 2 inches taller, the once timid linebacker plows through the line, and the kid I helped with an English paper earns the title of Captain. Hurry back, football. We miss you!
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