When Linnea and I talk about our future plans, I usually come up with some crazy idea, just to avoid the conversation. Then that crazy idea sits in my head long enough to not seem so crazy. One of those crazy ideas is that I have always wanted to have a farm. The reason that is crazy is I am so lazy. After the 3rd day of milking the cows I would get bored.
I also have a lot of crazy ideas for how we are going to raise our kids, and how many kids we are going to have. I want more than Linnea. I think she wants 4, I want a football team. Except, by our second kid I will probably be tired of diapers, so HE will be our last. All boys. Girls seem too difficult, and it will be tough to dress them appropriately (snowsuits, no skin showing), unless we live with the eskimos. (I have recently heard men with 2 daughters live longer, so I guess I have to rethink that.)
But I have gotten off the point, because I was going to stick with my thought that we all screw up our kids somehow, so I might as well have fun doing it. One thing I want to do, which I truly believe is not crazy, is FORCE my kids to play football. AMERICAN FOOTBALL. not soccer. I don’t think in today’s culture there is a much better place to learn some life lessons quickly. I love football analogies, so here is the first in what will probably be many. (more than a few?)
One of the positions which I played when I was at UMASS-Lowell was wedge (not wedgie) breaker. This position is a mother’s nightmare. Think kamikaze. The wedge breaker’s job is to run full speed (on Kickoff) and smash into the wall of blockers, to disrupt the other team’s return. So a few plays a game I was sure to see stars and taste pennies in my mouth. Now that was adrenaline, and the only way to be effective and to survive is to totally sacrifice your body for the team. Less than 100% effort on this and you are sure to stand on the sidelines and have someone shining a light in your eyes and asking you what day it is. I was 21 years old then, but wasn’t always so excited about this contact.
My first time ever in a live (full contact) scrimmage, was in 7th grade. I had no idea what I was in for. Under the lights. I was playing center on kick return. Front line, right in the middle. My job was to block the kicker. In the NFL, this would be a dream job, as the kickers are usually not thought of as the toughest guys on the field. In 7th grade, however, the kicker is usually the biggest and best athlete on the team. Having coached at this level I have now realized that front line on kick return is where you put your dumpiest kids. The chubby, slow kids. The wimpier kids. The kids have a certain amount of plays that they are required to play, and this is a good way to burn through them.
So that first play, I made my block. I waddled full speed up to the kicker (who ran deceptively fast and wasn’t very nice) and saw the lights streak in an arch. I am not sure I even felt him hit me, but I am pretty sure the back of my helmet is what landed in the dirt first and snot bubbles were all over my face. I think I was trying to wipe them off as I ran off the field, at least I didn’t cry, but I wanted to quit right there. On the next kick return, I feigned bravery and made my block again, being sure to stay lower and use better technique, and I think the results were slightly better. (by staying low, I think I simply ducked and cowered)
So the first life lesson I learned and want my kids to learn is life can knock the snot out of you, but you have to wipe it off and get back out there, trust your coaching, and work hard. Stay low, keep your knees bent (pray) and be alert. As we head out for this World Race every now and then in this preparation I have had to wipe the snot off my face, and know we all will once it actually gets started, but we cannot, must not, quit.
