My Very Own MVP

I grew up in a conservative household where my sisters and I were not allowed to play sports. You know - the whole shorts thing. Yes, I am old. Yes, I was raised in the south. Yes, it's called The Bible Belt. {And I have another story that could be titled that, but it's for another day.} My sisters and I rocked along in a world full of music and fashion and TV shows, because, frankly, sports were off limits. I like to conveniently use that to this day to explain my loathing of all things exercise and fitness related. ;-)

But, when I 3 years and 5 days old, the Lord finally answered my father's fervent prayers and delivered a boy to our family. And the world shook and long-held mandates for us 3 girls slowly and silently shifted to make way for the boy. Now, the boy had all kinds of different rules. I think of all the distinctions, the one that got my goat the most was the fact that he was excused from KP. Why bring him into the loop, after all, when there were three of us girls and the rotation from washer to rinser to dryer was completed by our triune sisterhood? 

Dishes aside, there was one more thing that really set me off. The boy could play sports. Because he could wear shorts. I remember one heated discussion with the prevailing parental unit and then I gave up. Buried my beloved dreams of volleyball and relegated myself to the band unit, long polyester pants and all. Now, mind you, before I worked myself up to the discussion, I had watched the boy play several seasons of football and basketball with the Y.M.C.A. Should I have known by the M that I didn't stand a chance?

Thankfully, junior high and high school offered me many different outlets and I busied myself with part-time jobs, school newspaper and yearbook, and getting all A's in my accounting classes. Lord, I loved completing those ledger green worksheets. And band. Yes, five years of band. Meanwhile, the boy played sports all through elementary, junior high and most of high school. I was okay with missing his games for my activities and might have been known to pick up a shift or two at Ronnie's Supermarket if it helped my silent gender-biased athletic boycott. I graduated and went on to college and promptly purchased store-bought shorts and never looked back at the volleyball court. 

With our own children, we offered them the opportunity to try everything. I mean anything and everything they had an interest in. Art lessons. Gymnastics. Boy Scouts. Soccer. T-ball. Baseball. Awanas. Choir. Football. Guitar lessons. Drum lessons. Lacrosse. More art. And, like the Renaissance men that they are, they tried all of it, and pursued none of it for very long. I learned to live in the season they were in. I learned to not push my desires into their hearts. I learned to encourage. I learned to guide their interests, but not direct their interests. And I learned to take pictures when I could, because there was no guarantee for the next semester, the next season, the next set.

I will confess, though, the utter elation - and yes, shock! - in my heart when, in the very same year, both boys tried out for football. My boys are 16 months apart, so they were only ever one grade away in school. And football happened their 7th/8th grade year. For one glorious short season, I had the joy of going to two football games a week and cheering for my sons. They both did fantastic, considering that they had never truly played before that season. We were never one of those families that got up a flag football game at Thanksgiving, even though I secretly always yearned to be.

My youngest son is truly an athlete. He is quick to grasp a new sport and has always quickly and easily done well in any sport. My oldest does well in sports, too, but his learning and adaptability curve is slightly longer. He makes up for it, though, with his heart and drive. I enjoyed watching them both learn football in their shared inaugural year, seeing how their skill sets and their personalities crafted them to become different players. And, I was not surprised when my youngest signed up to play football again in 8th grade. Imagine my giddiness over back-to-back seasons of being a football mom!

He enjoyed being part of a team. He was quick to listen to the coaches. He caught on to the plays. He was a determined little guy, set on tackling his opponent and getting his assigned point man on the other team. He truly had an authentic, all out hustle. I loved sitting in the stands. I could always easily spot both of my boys - this may sound silly - by their legs and shoes. There was just a look to this mom about their legs and shoes that made me easily recognize them on the field when helmets blurred and jersey numbers weren't visible.

I had two glorious years as a football mom. I took in all the games, sitting in the September heat and the October wind and the November chill. I bought the stadium popcorn. Steve picked us up stadium seats. I relegated a blanket to the cargo bay of my SUV for the unexpected - or expected -  chilly evenings. I cheered. I memorized the jersey numbers of friends' children. I supported the halftime programs and smiled at the cheerleader moms. I invited grandparents up to watch games. I bought a good zoom lens and took tons of photos. I was living large in the land of Friday night lights. I didn't mind at all that my football mom games were on Tuesdays or Thursdays. I was just happy to have a real reason to sit in the stands.

And what a thrill to watch my boy go in play after play for two seasons and do his best. His team wasn't a winning team either year - not in 7th, or in 8th. He wasn't on the A team either. No matter. We held our B team chins up proudly and enjoyed the equality of the B team. No child prodigies out there to steal the show. They were all in it to win it. 

I still remember that little number 55, standing on the sidelines as close to coach as he could get, ready to go in when called. And no matter what the scoreboard said, he was always a winner to me. And I was happy with the secret in my heart that he was my very own MVP.

Authentic All Out Hustle ~ Andrew 8th Grade Football ~ Fall 2009

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: We R Memory Keepers

For the Love of the Game

If I were to be completely honest, I would have to save that I have had an on-again, off-again relationship with these men. And that is so unlike me. I am usually fairly consistent, painfully loyal and stoically steadfast. I’ve never been one to play the field….Chalk it up to my childhood, or our nomadic married life, or just my yearning for the “real deal”.

Football started for me as a young child, and goes as far back as I can recall. You see, it’s always been there. Back in the days of “Luv Ya’ Blue” and Bum Phillips’ prowess as the leader of the Houston Oilers, I was in the hey days of my teenage life. And as a native Houstonian, the Oilers were always on in the background. So very many Sunday afternoons spent as a young girl, laying belly down on the carpet reading the Sunday cartoons, football game playing on one of our three TV channels, and the roast in the oven warming up the house with its aromatic, heady scent. I didn’t care much about the football game, but it was part of my Sunday trifecta of family fall bliss.

I headed off to Arkansas for college. And shut down on football. Our college team was insubstantial and the Razorback fans were beyond my comprehension. Saturday and Sunday afternoons were saved up for fun road trips, campus leisure, last minute studying and the ever present piles of laundry. Young married life had us back in Houston, but Bum was long gone and the chants of “Luv Ya’ Blue” were gone with him. In fact, before long, the whole team was packed up lock, stock and barrel and shipped off to a greedier fan base in Tennessee.

They left town the same year that we did. Our Houston days turned to San Antonio days turned to McAllen days  and we spent almost a decade in regions that didn’t have an NFL franchise. It didn’t matter. We were busy with the boys and Sunday afternoons were set aside for naps or time at the park or family days spent crafting or playing games. I’m really practically thrilled that for those eight years we lived outside the scope of “Game Day”. We crafted Sabbath memories and traditions and reveled in together times.

When we moved to Dallas in 2005, I wasn’t anticipating falling in love with the NFL. I had flirted with The Cowboys in my childhood during Christmas visits to family in Denton. I always had aunts and uncles and cousins that were rooting for their hometown team. I was around them often enough, but it was never okay for me to love them given the divisive rivalry in Texas between Oiler fans and Cowboy fans. I didn’t know then that my observance from afar of Tom Landry’s gentlemanly coaching of the Cowboys would lay the groundwork for my own fan base. And I didn’t fall in love fast once here, either. My Cowboys crept up on me much like my sweetheart…just a little bit here and there over time, until suddenly I had to admit I was in love and needed them in my life.

Having lived so long outside the scope of the NFL, I had never gone to a real game. I had never really even aspired to. But when Jerry Jones launched the new stadium with the 2009 season, I was already an avid fan and my curiosity was peaked. Attendance in early 2010 to a state play-off football game at Jerry’s World to watch my sister’s school district drew me in. The chance to go to the stadium for the $10 admission was a chance we couldn’t pass up. And, the stadium rewarded our attendance – it was truly amazing. I was still content, though, given ticket prices, to watch the home team games on our television.

As luck would have it, the season opener for 2013 was at home…against our division rivals, the New York Giants…the pre-season roster was looking good…Jason Garrett was gelling as a coach…the ante for a home win was up…and we needed a little something fun to do. Sometimes I get a wild hair…and I just had this gut feeling that the Cowboys were going to win for the first time against the Giants in the new stadium…and I wanted to be there! I just felt like, given our recent launch of our oldest to college, that we needed to get out of the house, we needed to do something different, we needed to stir up some fun.

I found the tickets online via StubHub, reserved and prepaid for parking…and kept the secret from my honey for as long as I could. I was bubbling inside and so very excited that I had to tell him on Saturday before the game the next day – I just couldn’t contain it anymore. I wanted him to have the chance to look forward to it as much as I was! The words to NBC’s Sunday night game never rang more true – “I’ve been waiting all day for Sunday Night!” We woke up Sunday morning almost giddy. I couldn’t help but tell our pastor where we were headed that night. See, everyone’s a fan. Most anyone you run into is proud of our hometown team – regardless of their record. It’s just a club we’re all in together.

We planned to leave the house around 3. We’d drive over ahead of the traffic, eat at the nearby Pappadeaux, and then head into the stadium to catch everything. We got there around 5:30 and were truly entertained for the two hours leading up to the game. And I can tell you this – it was the PERFECT game to have as your first NFL game.

We were the NBC’s Sunday night football. We were in a division game. We were up against our rivals. We were going for the first home win. And win we did! There’s never been a faster game that I watched. Four quarters rolled by, down after down, faster than you can say “How ’bout dem Cowboys!” We beat the Giants solidly – and at that moment all of the rest of the season didn’t matter. For that moment, we were winners and we were so excited to be part of it all. We were there. For the team. For the win. For the fun. For the game. For the love of the game.

I’ve Been Waiting All Day for Sunday Night ~ Cowboys vs. Giants ~ September 2013

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.blogspot.com

Paper: Little Yellow Bicycle
Chipboard Letters: Bella Blvd.