Everywhere I look there are parents and kids. Many of the kids are dressed in blue or white, socks up to their knees.
The grass is still very green and the sun is so high up in the blue, cloudless sky. I can feel it on my face, burning.
One stream of sweat has formed enough to drip down my back. It sticks my shirt to my skin.
I find a shady spot under a lone tree to watch the game, all around me the sounds of cheering and talking and children. My children.
I watch from across the field as my son sits on the bench, I holler for his other teammates in support of their efforts.
But then he is on the field and I feel the same rush I did when I was out there myself. I watch him with my adrenalin pumping and I call his name, telling him to “go”, “run”, “keep after it”.
All the sudden I am in my father’s head, watching me, some 25 years ago.
I cheer louder as he hustles on the field, passing to his friends, almost scoring a goal.
It does not matter that he did not make it. I am still so proud.
Tim walks up and says, “Look at him out there! He’s really hustling! Who would have thought?”
I would have.
I would have thought.
I am caught in the moment, extremely happy for my son and all that he has learned and practiced.
Elated to see the big smile on his face and the high fives exchanged on the sidelines.
So, so happy.