So Football season started for the children. For this child he is so very excited that his dad signed him up. He had his try with soccer and hockey, running for two years and now that he is seven, yes, he wants this football. “But it’s dangerous”, his grandma says. “No gramma. I’m not scared. I’m good at knocking down other kids”. “Yes boy, but I don’t mean that. I mean.” But that is all she is able to say, The child’s mother started in with stuff like, “It’s not dangerous, he will be wearing pads. And he will be wearing a helmet. There is nothing dangerous about football!” Oh God she went on like, “Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.” Then “Blah blah blah.” I think you know the grandmother left the room holding her mind shut tight, hence-forth blah blah blah.
The next few days were quite about the game. Grandmother smiled with the thoughts dancing in her head of the child’s soccer games and how chubby the little boy is running doing his best to keep up with the taller skinny kids. Not bad at all. then after the game, “Grandma will you buy me a hot dog?” “I sure will my boy. ” “Gramma I’m hungry, running makes me hungry.” “Yes little one you did lots of running and you saves the ball two times.” “Gramma did you see when I slid like this?” Of course the little boy starts sliding about, “watch gramma, I did this.” This is funny to her. “Yes, yes boy. I see and I saw. Now come back over here, you are going to knock someone down.” Gram had to laugh as other people and children scurried getting out of the little kids way. “What do you want on your hotdog.
She giggled to herself watching the plays in her mind as the child skated holding his stick up, eyes wide open chasing after the puck with the other hockey players. “Get your stick on the ice boy. On the ice.” She would call. He did well falling just before the swing or right after. So cute. But as he grew he bettered himself on the skates. Learning to stop a goal or actually getting a goal. “Way to go kid gramma is proud of you. You are getting really good at hockey. “Grammy will you buy me a hotdog.” “I sure will my boy.” “Gramma did you see when I hit the puck and it went in?” “Yes, yes I did. Did you hear me whistle?” “No Gramma.” “How come?” “Gramma there is lots of noise.” “Oh I see.” “Gramma are you going to buy me a hotdog now?” She laughs, “Yes. Lets get a move on then before they are all gone. “Thanks gramma.” “No problem boy.”
She smiles at the memories watching the child grow, running and skating and now he or his dad wants to try football. She looses these happy thoughts then wondered how this will go? The same as all the other times? Where his dad is the coach and the child plays like every other kid but is the only rotten one on the team? Terrible horrible sad hold her mind shut tight but nothing keeps out the bellowing crude remarks of how he could have done this or he did not do that or or or or or! STOP IT! Every second word coming from this fowl mouth is F . . . or F . . . . .g! Filthy dirty abuse. Poor little child. Why? The boy is five-years of age! He is not a reincarnation of Eusebio from Portugal. Nor is this little child the great GUY LAFLEUR number 10. Montreal.
He is a small child 5 years of age doing HIS best to play two sports his father played. Now he is six gramma is so proud of this beautiful boy, he believes he is doing his best and gramma can see he is indeed trying like all the other boys. Falling like all he other boys. Missing or hitting goals like all the other boys. Having a hotdog like all the other boys.
Gramma wonders about the other boys and their dads. She can see they are happy giving puppy rubs to the heads of the sweaty kids. “Great job.” But not her grandson. “Go over there. Now!” “Gramma will you buy me a hotdog?” “Yes I will my boy. Great job out there. That was awesome how you slid and got the puck out of there.” “Gramma did you see me when I skated backwards?” She laughs, “Yes that was so sweet. You finally did it.”
Then gramma sat quiet, fighting back the tears, blinking at the over flow but failing needing to wipe the wetness while daddy blows his shit at the child. “You stupid little F-ing good for nothing shit. Why do I even bother with you. When you get home. BLAH blah blah blah and filthy blah more than half way home. Then more as dad fills in mom. But grandmother tosses in a, “he was great! You should have seen him skate backwards and stop a goal. It was freaking awesome.” As the child brightens up his dad says, “Yeah but he played like an ass-hole the rest of the time.” Gramma watched as the small amount of hope in the kids eyes waiting for any nice that may come from his mother faded. “That is too bad. You should try harder.” This from the absent mom at the game.
Now the child is seven. His very first day for Football. They left gramma sleeping and off they went to his big game. Gramma didn’t even know this is the day or she would have been up and ready. She really wanted to watch her grandson in action as he told her how excited this would be. But also she wanted to see what dangers there may be, so to be able to give the child pointers. but she wasn’t she was home sleeping dreaming of collecting facecloths belonging to some girl, who if they were found by the wrong people there would be great Danger! lol sleep is funny at times.
Gramma wakes to yells and noise and what the crap is happening! I will tell you what is happening. Mommy is freaking out! [After the first Football practice the child asked. “Mommy can I have a hotdog.”] From there is it is a mystery until Gramma wakes hearing the boy ask, “Mommy can I come out of my room?” “NO! No you can’t!”
I wonder if his dad thinks the boy is Jim Brown 1957 Cleveland Browns.