Like most people in Lakeland, I grew up going to the Dreadnaught football games on Friday nights. I remember sitting in the stands pretending to watch the game, while instead watching the cheerleaders, the Anchorettes and the band. I remember walking down to the south end zone concession stand to get snacks. And I remember watching mobs of boys playing their own games of football in each end zone. Little did I know how fast I would revert back to watching those boys playing their own games of football...but this time, with different lenses.
Last night, Warren and Harper became "those boys." They played football in the end zone.
Warren knew one of the boys, but the other handful we had never seen before. As they played, I watched. I watched to make sure they stayed safe. I watched to make sure they stayed out of everyone's way. I watched to make sure they didn't play too rough. I watched to make sure they played fair. I watched to see how they interacted with the other boys. I watched to see how those other boys treated my own. I watched....until I wanted to cry.
In tears himself, my big, solid Harper ran over to me to tell me that those other boys were teasing him and called him "weak." And if I'm honest, my heart did break, but I felt a slight sense of relief. I was prepared to hear "Mommy, those boys called me fat." "Weak" I can handle! There on the sideline of a Dreadnaught football game, I held him in my arms as he cried. I told him that those boys were only teasing him because
they were scared of him because
he was so strong and
they were the weak ones.
Wow! Little did I know the power in those words. Harper quickly dried up and turned around and ran back over to those boys, who seemed to be a good bit older than he. He ran straight to them, and did nothing but look them in the eyes. Never did he raise a fist, never did he yell, never did he take a swing. It wasn't needed; he simply needed the confidence to make the "big boys cry." And while they didn't actually cry, they did scream and run a good bit. And while they ran, again, I watched...and chuckled.
While a small part of me felt guilty that I found such pleasure in Harper scaring those big boys...a bigger part of me was proud. I was proud that Harper did not walk away defeated, rather stood up for himself. I was proud of him for not hitting those other boys. And I was relieved to see that he can handle his own. Maybe at the next game, I can watch a little bit less.
