RISK GOING FAR

He noticed.

I hadn’t intended for him to see.

But the welling up of emotions came too quick to control. Smile on and voice measured, my eyes still betrayed me, in an instant wetting ever so slightly to hint at the feelings rising within. 

Are you okay, mom? He tilted his head and asked. Are you afraid I’m going to get hurt?

It’s not that, son, I said in full honesty, it’s not that at all.

I’d like to blame it on the fact that the hour was late. These day I’m trying to meet my teenagers in the moments when they want to talk, which is often well beyond my bedtime. Sleep was calling but practice didn’t end until 11pm and I determined to wait up to welcome, feed and listen.

This night’s practice was football, the new sport to our family.

At 16-years-old my son has always been all sports, all year, EVERY year. As a family we're used to the rhythm of a three-sport athlete - the overlapping seasons, the pile of varied sports equipment in the garage, the nights and weekends filled with fields and courts and baseball diamonds, the dinners at 10pm. 

But for the first time my son has opted for football over soccer, trading his goalie gloves and brightly-colored uniform for bulky football wear and a substantially padded helmet. 

I was the one who said ‘no’ in the past.

When coaches would ask or parents would comment on the potential for his tall and muscular frame, my answer to every version of the can-your-son-play-football question was always a polite and deliberate, no. 

It was the right answer at the time. But when the boy with wide shoulders asked the same question of me this past year, the right answer became ‘yes.’

I was ready for football, I had welcomed football, but that night was the first time I had seen him wearing football. Once home he dumped his newly acquired gear on the table, inhaled his burrito and donned his pads and helmet. I took in the image of my boy becoming man.

S*** just got real, I breathed silently, we are actually doing this. 

I took in his massive frame and form. I could see why they tried to get him to play all this time. 

I took in the expression on his face, the desire and drive in his eyes. My mind could see the possibilities ahead. He could be really good at this, I thought.

And as with all things in life, my heart reminded me, he could fail.

Am I afraid you will get hurt, son?

No, in truth you may, but that is not my greatest fear. 

Am I afraid that you will try and not succeed? Am I afraid that by challenging and pushing yourself into something new you will feel the sting of coming up short, that you will fight the suggestion that you are not enough?

Yes, that is the pain I hope to see you avoid. 

That is the emotion behind my eyes. 

That is the truth I won’t find words to share.

But try anyway, son, play life your way. This is what we raised you for. Despite the emotion in my eyes, my heart is brave enough to cheer you on.

“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly found out how far one can go.” ~ T.S. Eliot

Keep risking, son. Find out how far you can go.