I heard on the news the other day that football season is only 10 weeks ago. 10 WEEKS AWAY. UGH. I only get 10 more weeks before I succumb to the life of a football widow.
Several years ago, I wrote a post about the allure of football. Through my research, I learned that “football is the most appropriate of America’s games because it reflects our appetite for speed and strength, machismo and finesse, magnanimity in victory, courage in defeat and grace under pressure.”
It’s just what men like. And women too. It would be unfair for me to not include the women that love the sport just the same! I know my husband wishes I was more into football, that I shared his love for the game, but unfortunately I just do not. As much as I moan and groan and complain about how much time he spends watching football during the season, it truly does bring him joy. And that, is a good thing.
I’m not sure if I ever told my husband this, but when I got pregnant in 2011, I secretly prayed for a boy. Every. Single. Day. Although Walt and I hadn’t exactly discussed how many children we would like to have, there was something in the back of my mind that led me to believe we would be blessed with only one, so I needed to make this one count.
Why a boy you ask? I had this feeling that Walt needed a son. Not that he wouldn’t be just as happy to have a girl, but he needed a son. I needed to give Walt all the things I couldn’t provide for him. A boy that would love football as much as he did. I bet you thought that was going somewhere more poignant didn’t you. I know, weird and dramatic. Regardless if those feelings were sound or just plain wack-a-doo, Walt has his football fan!
Meet football obsessed Tibbitts numero dos: Lucas.
Last fall we embarked on our first season of flag football. To say Lucas was excited was an understatement. To say that Walt was excited that Lucas has begun his love for football is also an understatement!
So… despite my “utter disdain for the sport” as my husband calls it, here’s to letting men just be men. Here’s to the next Tibbitts generation embracing the “American male ideal for fun found in the whirling, unscripted acrobatics of Vitruvian-like bodies reflected in high definition.”