It took about two minutes. Maybe three. When my youngest, Milo, 9, was finally able to slow down his tears, he took a deep breath. I wondered what had driven him to spontaneous sadness. Recent tough family news he learned? Exhaustion from a long day? Dealing with an existential crisis seemed like a long shot, but maybe he was questioning the universe and why we are here?
Finally, he got on top of his sadness and said, “Dad…”
“Yes, son?”
“Does firing the coach mean my team is going to miss the playoffs?”
Deep breath from my wife and me…and maybe a chuckle. (And yes, they probably will miss the playoffs, but I will tell him that part another day).
Milo has officially entered his honeymoon period with the glorious pageantry of football. What started as a fascination with big cats became a liking of teams with big cat mascots, which became a game of catch that has now morphed into a full-fledged excitement for a game I have loved seemingly forever.
While I am careful to meet each of my kids’ obsessions with a healthy dose of optimism and excitement (also currently on Minecraft), this one is different. This one is pure selfish joy. He asks just about every night about any game that may be on—NFL, college, high school, Canadian league? Whatever. He’ll take it. Me too. How lucky am I? Go pound virtual sand, blocky video game!
I say selfish joy, because I was—and still am—a walking encyclopedia for football and basketball. When I was his age, my family members didn’t need Google, Alexa or AI technology to know who was leading the league in rushing or the name of the backup punter’s gardener. Ask Josh, he knows.
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Milo is not quite to that level yet, but he’s well on his way. And although I love the sport, I never have to beg him to participate.
On most days that are sunny?
“Dad, can we play catch with the football?”
When I announce I am grilling something?
“Dad, can we play catch with the football?”
On a very rainy, chilly day?
“Dad, can we… watch a YouTube video of my favorite player?”
“Yes son,” I say, wiping away a tear of pride from my face. “We absolutely can.”
How organically Milo came to football is refreshing. While I never forced the sport on him, I did share cool stories, stats, etc. with him to show how much I enjoyed it. Maybe there is a kernel of wisdom in there for parents. Don’t force your passions on them. Just share it. Maybe they pay enough attention and want to join the fun.
And boy, has he paid attention and joined in. Just this calendar year he has checked every fandom box:
• Rode cloud 9 with his favorite team making a playoff run. Check.
• Crashed down hard when they lost in heartbreaking fashion. Sniffle. Check.
• Carved out way too much time to watch Day 3 of the NFL Draft. Check.
• Got super nostalgic on a road trip to touch the outside of his favorite team’s stadium. Check.
• Drafted his first fantasy team. Check (he is in the Top 3 as of writing this).
• Immersed himself in flag football. Check.
There are no victims here in this football phase. Well, maybe one. My wife likes sports, but football is not her favorite. And while I have been in pigskin heaven every time Milo asks to watch a game or shares a little-known football anecdote, I do enjoy shooting my wife a wry smile when it happens. Hang in there, baby. It’ll all be over by mid-February. Well, until next season.
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And yes, I think it is natural to get excited to have someone share this level of football detail within my household. The minutia, the stats, the entertainment, the feline mascots…it’s all gold…wonderful, selfish gold.
But like most phases, I also understand that this newly stoked passion may have a shelf life. There is a good chance he’ll eventually be on to the next shiny phase. If so, I will certainly exude excitement about whatever it might be, while I quietly mourn the loss of this incredible wave we rode together.
Whatever you decide to do, bud, long-term or short-term passion, I’ll be ready with a ridiculous stat or story. And if all parts of this game fall by the wayside, I’ll be standing by waiting for the answer to the sweetest eight-word question this phase could ever produce…
Dad, can we play catch with the football? Yes. Always.
