I dropped Gresham off at football camp yesterday morning. We were a little early. The coach told us to wait on the bleachers across the field. Actually, what he said was, “Groves, go wait on the bleachers ‘till we get goin’.”
We walked together, father and son, talking about the butterflies banging around in his gut. It’s OK, I told him, to be nervous when you’re trying something new and meeting new people. We took a seat on the cold metal planks and he asked me if Gavin, Redneck Neighbor’s son, was still coming. I told him he was. He asked if I’d stay and watch him. I promised I would for a little while.
All was quiet for a minute.
Then a stampede of boys came through the registration lines all at once, sprinting toward us as if being chased by a swarm of killer bees or a bunch of girls wearing lipstick and threatening to use it.
As they galloped up to the bleachers one kid shouted, “I won!” Another hollered, “I was the first seven year-old!” And another yelled back, “I was the first five year-old!” And the first boy, reasserting his dominance simply said, “I’m the fastest.” And the others were silenced.
One kid, a kid from the middle of the pack, had made his way to the top of the bleachers by this time and he announced, “I’m the tallest!” A boy nearby, a head taller, darted to the top of the bleachers, stood next to the “tallest” boy and corrected him. ”I’m the tallest!”
I thought back to grade school basketball and soccer practices. I remembered how it felt to realize for the first time that I was neither the fastest nor the tallest and that it, for some reason, mattered tremendously.
I thought back to how – though my father wasn’t big into sports – I tried to play football in middle school and run track so I could be the boy I thought a dad (and girls) would want. I thought about how awful it felt to not be the strongest or toughest and to be constantly reminded of it by the boasts and insults of the toughest and strongest.
I watched Gresham watching the other boys. I wanted to say something wise that would stick in his heart and protect it from his inner critics and the taunts of other kids for years to come. But it was early and I’m not quick and just then Gavin showed up and they started talking and the moment passed.
But I thought about it all morning while I enjoyed a day off playing with his sisters. I thought about how his morning was going – how he must feel throwing the ball farther than some but not the farthest, being quicker than some but not the quickest. I wondered whether football was such a good idea after all. Why put him in the world of narcissistic judgmental jocks at age five? It’ll crush him, I thought.
So I figured out exactly how to comfort him after the morning ordeal we put him through – how to tell him I love him just because he’s him. How it’s OK if he doesn’t want to go back. How it doesn’t matter if he’s the “est” at anything or not – especially something as trivial as sports. I planned the whole conversation out.
I picked Gresham up from football camp and he wrapped himself around me halfway up like a boa constrictor, his t-shirt soaked in sweat and his smiling face red from running and passing for hours. “How’d it go?” I asked. “I blocked Landon so hard!” he said. “It was awesome! Landon said he’s telling his mom,” he grinned. “I block the hardest! I’m the hardest hitter!”
I love him for that too I guess – For being the best at knocking your kid into next week. Booya! In your face! My kid hits the hardest!
Linda Sue says:
We all want to be the “est” in something – cool your Gresham is the hardest hitting fellow – sometimes you need to be able to knock someone so hard he tells his mama. I’m not exactly sure when those occasions occur – but bereft of the advantage of testosterone in determining this stuff – I’m just saying – Way To GO Gresham or more manly approach would be good hit Gresham (when do they start getting nicknames like Gresh, or Grover or the Grovester?)
Kenyon says:
This was great. I so often feel this same way. And I start getting all competitive via my poor wonderful lovely daughter. Not only do I want her to be the “est” in something, but everything.
Adrianne says:
I’m excited for your boy. I love it when a kids’ first experience with something is positive, then they do it again. Even if they later decide they don’t like it, at least they gave it a ‘fair’ chance. You and Brant with the Booya’s. Well, I guess at least you booya’d the parents of the other kids, and not compassion kids in Thailand in a game of keep away…
Emily says:
Am I allowed to have a favorite Shlog post? I think this could be it.
nate davis says:
I have a 4 year old boy and I’ve sat up at nights worrying about these types of moments that are coming in his life…this post eased some of those worries. Thanks for sharing!
Nancy Tyler says:
I’m with you, Emily–this is one of my favorite posts. Ranks right up there with this one, which I still go back and reread.
Man, I love good writing…
Rachel says:
Well, I’m the Rachel-est!
Um…
Great post, Shaun. Grown-ups play this game in a lot of ways, too. What a good thing to start teaching your children that “the game” is not what life is really about.
euphrony says:
Little Euphrony is on the local swim team this summer. She turns five this week, and so is one of the youngest out there. She gets really nervous, telling us she doesn’t like to swim without adults in the water; but we encourage her and she gets out there and swims her best. Despite taking twice as long as almost all the other kids she is proud of finishing and proud of improving every week – as are her parents.
I’m so glad that the overriding competitive drive has not shown up in her (yet), that she is just enjoying the swimming and the personal improvement. One of her good friends, also on the swim team and only a month older than her, is super competitive and can get to be annoying at times because of it.
pam says:
Booya, indeed! Go Gresham. Great post, Shaun.
ben stewart says:
He totally gets that from you.
Redneck Neighbor says:
You know the best part about all of this for me is watching you, and especially Becky, trying to figure out the best way to react or what to say when Gresham so happily and excitedly exclaims that he threw a kid so far that he landed on another kid. (Actualy happened by the way.) You guys always react to things and questions from the kids so diplomatically and very thoughtful…and there’s nothing diplomatic or thoughtful about brute strength or a boy testing the waters of “manhood.” Some things just deserve a “Hell yeah!!!” even if it’s in your mind or around the corner of the house or on a blog.
gbrad says:
My 12 yr old started playing football @ age 8 . . . same story. he was playing with 9 & 10 year olds and he was blowing them up as soon as they taught him how to hit. It was very humbling to have other parents and coaches comment on how good your child is at sport. GOD is good.
JAI says:
A drama in a dad-son life…
Life is a drama-sakeshpere..
I had remembered my childhood days with my dad.It was plesant.
Thanks for making me to remember those past days dude!