This week is a great week at the Horn house. My sons started playing flag football in the evenings, and Karen and I are getting our first dose of being "sports parents." We have promised each other that we will not become one of those parents, the kind who generate eye rolls and deep sighs throughout the stands. And I'm glad we are committed to this already, because once the boys are suited up and playing, the temptation will run high, .
This fulfills a little dream for me too. I know you aren't supposed to live vicariously through your kids, but childhood seizures meant I never got to play competitive football myself, and I am genuinely thrilled for them. They are already doing drills, running Indian runs, practicing their stances, getting ready for the "hit" portion of the game, and being coached by Dad on such important phrases as "It's just a scratch. Put me back in, Coach." I'm so proud of them, I could bust. We'll see what happens after they actually get to touch a football, but this is a pretty magic moment, and I feel blessed to be experiencing it with my sons.