Recently, while sharing a meal at a local diner, my son, Ethan, looked down at his plate and confessed he had something important to discuss. Anticipating news about grades or a crush, I was caught off guard when he said, “Mom, I really wish you’d think about letting me join the high school football team next year.” His hopeful gaze made it clear he was sincere, but I knew my answer would remain a firm “no.”
Living in a small town where football reigns supreme, it’s hard not to be swept away by the sport’s enthusiasm. The Friday night lights, promising young athletes, and a well-funded athletic program have captivated Ethan’s interest in football. I admit, the nostalgia of my own high school days often floods back when I hear the band play.
We enjoy football as a family; Sundays are filled with the sounds of referees and enthusiastic shouts over questionable calls. The aroma of chili simmering on the stove complements our ritual of cheering for our favorite team. While my husband and I appreciate the game, Ethan has dreamed of playing since he was little. However, we have consistently put a stop to that ambition.
In the past, it was simpler to sidestep football enrollment. We would mention scheduling conflicts or claim I missed the registration deadline. The truth, though, is that both my husband and I believe tackle football is far too risky for young players. Even though younger children don’t participate in tackle football, the potential for concussions and other injuries is daunting.
My discomfort with the idea of my son donning a helmet and engaging in tackle football is rooted in personal experience. When Ethan was eight, he suffered a severe concussion during a freak incident in gym class. Initially, he seemed fine, only to rapidly decline hours later. We ended up in the emergency room, where a CT scan confirmed the severity of his injury.
The six weeks of brain rest that followed were incredibly challenging for him. Schoolwork became nearly impossible, and he had to avoid any activities that could risk further injury. He couldn’t ride his bike, play at the park, or do much beyond resting at home. This was all due to an accident—not from crashing into other players on the field.
Witnessing Ethan’s struggle through the pain and recovery from his head injury cemented my resolve to keep him off the football field, regardless of how much he pushes for it. As a parent, my primary responsibility is to safeguard him, and saying no to football is one of those necessary boundaries.
I understand that many parents have different views and choose to let their kids participate in the sport. I respect their decisions and will gladly support our local teams, just without my son on the field. However, the fear of potential long-term damage keeps me from feeling comfortable with football.
Standing firm in my decision is no easy feat, especially in a town that celebrates the sport. I can see the longing in Ethan’s eyes as he watches from the stands, wishing he could wear a jersey and experience the thrill of the game. Recently, while watching a movie about a football underdog, it was clear he felt disappointed that he wouldn’t have those moments to reminisce about later in life.
As we left the restaurant, Ethan put his arm around my shoulders and said, “I’ll forgive you for not letting me play football if you get me an ice cream.” I smiled and agreed, knowing his safety is worth much more than any fleeting moment on the field.
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In summary, the decision to keep my son off the football team was far from simple, but my commitment to his safety guides my choices.
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