A friend of mine scolded me for dragging myself out to a football game on Thursday (I didn't mention to her I'd already done a game on Tuesday). And I was out there again on Sunday. Why? Well, my elder grandson's newly formed 7th grade Spirit Band (we used to call it Pep Band) played for the first time at the game on Tuesday and my elder granddaughter's 7th grade cheerleader squad was doing their game on Thursday (different schools) and my younger grandson's 5th grade team had their first playoff game on Sunday - he's a linebacker.
But that still doesn't answer why. As my friend pointed out, the kids would forgive me for missing their games if I was sick. They truly would. But I know something at this point in my life I didn't know when my own kids were young. I understand about "in the blink of an eye" and "it's the little moments" and "building memories".
If we hadn't been at Tuesday game, we couldn't have offered to bring him home so his dad could leave early to get our younger granddaughter to bed. And we would have missed this:
"That was so awesome. How did we sound, Nana? Did we sound okay?"
"You sounded great."
"Really? Thanks. And thanks for being there."
If we hadn't been at the Thursday game, we would have missed the opportunity to stay with her for the evening while my son and his wife went out, and I would have missed our "girl talk" at bedtime, about life and love and all those things that are important to a young woman just entering her teens.
|That's my boy - number 21, with his shoulder to the turf.|