From my vantage point in the bleachers, I watch as my son, Max, launches himself at the opposing quarterback with the ferocity of a hawk diving for its prey. He’s stationed on the far side of the defense, and just as he’s about to make his move, a massive offensive tackle sends him sprawling. I can’t help but hold my breath as he springs back up, ready for the next play. I never imagined I’d be here, a football mom, especially since I thought my progressive parenting and Max’s disinterest in contact sports would spare me from the worries other parents face.
For years, my two boys tossed footballs with their dad in the backyard while I snapped pictures of the beautiful sunsets behind them. On Sundays, they would wake up early to catch NFL games while I enjoyed a quiet morning with my crossword puzzle. Their father and I have always been uneasy about the sport for various reasons, including the long-term effects of concussions and the sometimes troubling behavior of players. I figured this had influenced my boys, as neither Max nor his older brother had ever expressed a desire to play.
As Max’s sophomore year approached its halfway mark, I thought I had dodged a bullet. I wouldn’t have to endure the anxiety of helmets colliding or watch him limp off the field, worrying about potential injuries. Max had always preferred sports like archery and fencing, showcasing his love for the medieval while steering clear of aggressive contact sports. He even dreamed of becoming an ornithologist.
But then, just days after turning sixteen in February 2021, Max got his driver’s license and surprised us with a request to join the football team. He assured us that there would be a spring season, complete with weekly Covid testing at school. Masks would be worn when mouthguards weren’t, he insisted. It would be safe.
This request pushed the boundaries of my parenting. How could I allow my beloved son to enter two of the most dangerous realms of our rural county – highways and football fields – at the same time? I was already concerned about the risks that Covid posed. Now I had to consider the dangers of repeated head trauma as well?
After much discussion, my husband and I struggled to say no. We had previously set strict limits on video games and cell phone usage until they turned fourteen. But Covid had altered our perspective.
As the months of isolation dragged on, my worries about Max grew. The lockdown struck while he was just starting to feel comfortable in high school and finding his place on the track team. In the lone track meet of 2020, he excelled, winning both the triple jump and the 400 meters. But soon after, the news broke: all flights into the U.S. were being shut down, followed by school closures. Just like that, his track season vanished.
While Max adapted well to virtual schooling, he began spending too much time cooped up in his room, his mood growing increasingly irritable, especially towards his older brother, who enjoyed the freedom of driving and had a more established social circle. He wasn’t alone; the CDC reported a 31 percent increase in emergency room visits for mental health issues among 12- to 17-year-olds in 2020. I was among the 46% of parents who noticed a decline in their teenagers’ mental health during the pandemic.
That’s why, during the second year of the pandemic, I found it hard to refuse Max’s request to play football. So, we said yes, even though it was the last sport I envisioned him participating in.
Initially, I found comfort in the fact that he had never played before; surely he would spend most of the time on the bench. But by the second game, Max had become a starting linebacker. To my surprise, he thrived on the thrill of rushing the quarterback and going for a sack, a term that has now replaced his previous passionate rants about birds at our dinner table.
In a heartbeat, Max transformed into a spirited athlete, fist-pumping after great plays and icing his bruises. He encourages his teammates on the field, finding his voice – even if it’s sometimes muffled by the mouthguard I insisted he wear. I’ve come to see that mouthguard as a protective charm; as long as he wears it, he’ll be safe.
I’ve officially joined the ranks of football moms, and Max has found a new community. Recently, he and his teammates gathered at our local burger joint to celebrate a game, reminiscing about the night and enjoying strawberry milkshakes – a new favorite of his.
Now equipped with a comfy stadium chair, I watch as my son, once a quiet kid, celebrates touchdowns with grunts and groans, while expressing his frustration at turnovers. I had always felt prepared to say no to football, but when Max asked, I realized it wasn’t the moment to decline. It was time to embrace anything that sparked his interest and brought him closer to others.
While it’s easy to attribute Max’s newfound enthusiasm for football to the pandemic, I can’t help but feel grateful that Covid prompted him to take this leap. We are all striving to push past the hurdles of collective grief, disruptions, and societal unrest. Is football the answer for Max? For now, yes. And I’ll be there, sitting next to his dad, keeping a watchful eye on number 23 as he dashes onto the field, doing something neither his dad nor brother ever attempted – and owning it with a triumphant fist pump.
For more insights on parenting during these times, check out one of our other blog posts here.
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In summary, the Covid pandemic has led me to embrace my role as a football mom, supporting my son Max as he discovers his passion for the game. Initially hesitant, I have learned to appreciate this journey and the joy it brings him, even amidst the ongoing challenges we face.