Can I Play Football?Greeting to those who have taken time to stop by.
Since Thanksgiving was yesterday, and I've blogged before about what we ate (or I didn't, due to being a picky eater), I will direct this post-Thanksgiving post (did I lose you there?) on the other aspect of Thanksgiving, football.
Near the end of my 8th grade year, the reserve football coach from the High School called a meeting of all those who would be freshmen next year, and interested in playing football. There was some talk that, if there was enough participation, a 9th grade football team would be formed. This would be totally separate from the reserve team that the Freshmen currently played on.
Each boy was given a permission slip and a physical to be filled out by a doctor. My folks said I could, and Gattabout gave his support. An appointment was set for the physical.
When we got to the doctor's office, we waited our turn in line. Since we lived in a small town, and there was only one doctor, you sometimes had to wait a while. His office always had a very antiseptic smell to it. Anytime I drive by the former office, which is now some body's house, I wonder if it still smells the same way.
But I digress. The doctor rendered me fit and we paid the bill. I was excited. When we got home, Mom told me that she had been talking to Aunt Bonnie on the phone, and mentioned that I was going to play football. She reminded Mom that her youngest son played football and broke his leg. Mom didn't like the idea of me breaking my leg. She had changed her mind about me playing football.
Since I wasn't allowed to play organized football, I played it with even more gusto on the playground. I don't ever recall breaking my leg playing football.
1 comment:
And if your mother had known how many times you would hurt yourself on or around forklifts at work, she probably would have wanted you to stop working.
I wish you could still play football. It would be fun watching you and The Ogre teaming up against some of The Woodsman's family!
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