To all parents: be a player!

How do we know it’s football season in our home? Is it because every day I trip over a football in the middle of the floor? Is it because the beautiful, antique vase in our living room no longer holds my silk flower arrangement? OOOh nooooo! It is honored by displaying an emerald green Northwest Missouri State football, pointed end up, of course. I was informed it was the trophy case and was there anyway to set up a spotlight? Or maybe it’s because the television seems programmed to automatically turn to football games across the nation at anytime of the day or night. Not to mention the reruns…uh, I mean replays. I have found footballs of all sizes and colors in the dryer, washer, and oven. Everyone in our family is dodging high flying passes these days. Our foyer has become a full-fledged football field. You never know when the football on television is going to be transformed into our entry way. Sound effects and everything. The other day my husband decided to escort our girls to the city to take care of appointments and to have some father-daughter bonding time. Jonathan and I were left alone to have our own time together. All was going well until about 6 p.m. that evening when my darling 9-year-old asked me to play some football with him. I didn’t answer at first and then I recognized that look of poor ol’ Mom. Then he turned toward the door tossing his beloved football in the air and announced in a downcast voice, “That’s okay, Mom, I know you’re tired.” Wait one minute, I figured if my husband could take our girls shopping (which is not on the top of his favorite to do list), then certainly I could play football with our son. “What?! Me, tired?! Come on, I’ll show you how to throw a football!” I replied in my enthusiastic, ready-for-anything voice. And play football we did. I threw posts, flags, swings, and curls. Then it was time to execute some plays. I ran draws, sweeps, and traps. I not only impressed my football partner, I rather impressed myself. All in all, it turned out to be a pretty great evening. When my husband came home later that night we stayed up swapping war stories and both of us ended on a prideful not of “Anything you can do, I can do better!” Well…our spirit, that we can conquer all, was definitely short lived. We both woke up the next morning aching and complaining. Our chorus rendition suddenly changed from “anything you can do, I can do better,” to “I bet I hurt worse than you do!” Thank goodness for ice packs and heating pads. Even though my husband and I moaned and groaned for a couple of days, we both had agreed that our time with our children and being a player was well worth it. Would we do it again? You bet. But I want it on record – it’s my turn to take the girls shopping. I really don’t think I will get any argument from their dad.

Editor’s note: Former Forum columnistSusan Baker is the mother of Northwest Missouri State University quarterback Jonathan Baker. This column originally appeared in the Forum on Sept. 17, 2003 when Jonathan was 9 years old.