Recently, while enjoying a casual dinner with my son, he suddenly looked down and confessed he had something on his mind. Expecting to hear about a low grade or perhaps a crush, I was taken aback when he said, “Mom, I really wish you’d think about letting me join the high school football team next year.” I could see his eager expression, and I knew I had to find a way to gently tell him that my answer would remain “no.”
In our small town, football is practically a religion. The excitement surrounding Friday night games, the promising young athletes, and a well-funded athletic program have captivated my son. I totally get it; the thrill of the game is infectious. Even sitting in the stands takes me back to my high school memories. The sound of the band still brings a smile to my face as I remember my own band’s halftime performances.
While we’re not die-hard fans, we do enjoy football as a family. Our Sundays during football season are filled with referee whistles and debates over questionable calls. Cooking chili and munching on nachos while cheering on our team is a cozy way to spend a winter afternoon. My husband and I appreciate the game, but my son has been dreaming of playing it since he was little.
However, my husband and I have consistently put the brakes on that ambition. In the past, it was easier to sidestep football. When my son expressed interest, we’d say the practice schedule clashed with our busy lives or that I had missed the sign-up deadline. The truth is, we both believe football is too risky for young kids. Even though tackle football isn’t played at a young age, the potential for concussions and other injuries is just too high.
The idea of my son participating in tackle football makes me uneasy, and I know that feeling won’t change, especially considering our own experience with head injuries. When he was eight, an unexpected accident during gym class resulted in a serious concussion. Initially, he seemed fine with just a headache and a large goose egg on his head. But within hours, everything changed. He became dizzy, lethargic, and unable to recognize us. A trip to the emergency room confirmed my worst fears—a major concussion.
The six weeks of recovery were grueling. He struggled with schoolwork, grew easily fatigued, and was restricted from activities that could risk another head injury. He couldn’t ride his bike or play at the park, spending those weeks stuck on our couch, longing for normalcy. And all this from an accident, not from tackling someone else on a football field.
Watching my son go through the pain of a concussion and the lengthy recovery solidified my resolve to keep him off the football field—no matter how much he wishes otherwise. As a parent, it’s my responsibility to keep him safe and establish boundaries. Saying no to football is one of those boundaries that feels right for our family considering our past experiences.
I understand that many parents feel differently and I respect their choices to let their kids play. I’m more than willing to support our local athletes by cheering for his classmates at games. But as a concerned mother, I can’t shake the fear of my son getting hurt during a game or practice.
Standing firm in our decision is definitely challenging, especially when football is such a celebrated part of our community. I see how my son longs to be one of those kids with a bright number on his jersey. When we recently watched the movie Rudy, I could tell he felt disappointed that he wouldn’t have his own glorious moment to recall at high school reunions, nor would a crowd chant his name.
As we left the restaurant, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and said, “I’ll forgive you for not letting me play football if you buy me an ice cream.” I smiled and agreed because, in the grand scheme of things, his safety is worth every scoop.
In conclusion, while the allure of football is strong in our town, my resolve to keep my son safe through boundaries will not waver. As parents, we have to make tough calls, all in the name of love.