“It’s just kiddy football,” he’ll grouse. “No point in getting all worked up about it. Not even a championship on the line, so just calm down.”
Mom will laugh and pat his cheek, because she knows as well as I do that there’s no human on the planet who loves and supports Aiden more than Dad…he just has his own way of showing it.
I take a seat by mom, with Dad on her other side. He’s got a Styrofoam cup of concession stand coffee in his hands, despite the fact that it’s unseasonably warm for this time in the fall. As far as Dad is concerned football games equal crappy concession stand coffee and nachos and hot dogs and paper bags full of popcorn. The boys are warming up in the end zone, kicking their legs high, clapping and shouting in unison, and doing all sorts of funny-looking calisthenics. The scoreboard shows there is less than a minute before the game begins, and I have the jitters for Aiden.
Aiden is one of the team captains, so he and two others meet at the fifty-yard line with the referees, umpires, line judges, and the other team captains to determine who kicks off first and in which direction. After a brief discussion, the teams take their places on opposite ends of the field.
Apparently the other team has chosen to kick off first, which means Aiden takes his place on the field well behind his team, since he’ll be the one to receive the ball. This, of course, assumes the other team’s kicker can get the ball in the air, which isn’t always the case.
The whistle blows, and then there’s the soft, distant thump as the kicker sends the ball flipping end over end in a high but short arc. Aiden’s teammates surge forward, and both coaches shout for Aiden to get under it, to move forward. Aiden launches himself into motion as the ball hurtles toward the ground…he catches it neatly and cradles it in his arm, his other hand placed over the top of it protectively.
“GO, AIDEN!” I hear Jamie shout.
“UP FIELD!” Coach Barnhart shouts. “NORTH AND SOUTH, NORTH AND SOUTH!”
Which, I’ve learned, means Aiden is supposed to run toward the end zone instead of heading for the sidelines. Aiden angles away from the largest group of opposing players as if heading for the near sideline, and the onrushing players try to head him off—but Aiden, instead, cuts back toward the middle of the field, dances around one tackle, dodges another, trips out of a third…and then he’s gone. Sprinting full speed, Aiden is running so fast that he’s steadily putting yardage between him and the nearest player from the other team.
His whole team is chanting, shouting, Barnhart is clapping—and Jamie is jumping up and down excitedly, pumping his fist as Aiden jogs into the end zone to score a touchdown, turning to accept the pile-on hugs of his teammates. His team line up for the two-point conversion. There’s the count, the hike, and the quarterback, one of Aiden’s best friends, plugs the ball into Aiden’s belly and Aiden darts right up the middle. I lose him in the crowded jumble of players, and then I see the refs raise their arms over their heads—the two-point conversion is good!
Mom is shrieking like a banshee, Dad is on his feet and clapping, and I, predictably, have lost every bit of my dignity as I shout Aiden’s name, whistling, clapping, and just generally embarrassing myself.
As our offense jogs off the field and the kick-off unit takes its place, Aiden is engulfed in a back-slapping round of hugs from the players on the sidelines.
And then I watch as Jamie approaches him. Instead of hugging him or doing the weird football player butt slapping thing—which I’ve never understood—he kneels in front of Aiden, catches his helmet by the face mask in one hand and slaps him on the helmet with the other. I can’t quite tell what he’s saying, but it’s a deeply personal moment, somehow. Intimate. A man encouraging a boy whom he cares about very much.
Mom glances at me, watching Jamie and Aiden. She leans close. “Elyse…is there something I should know about the new principal?” Her eyes cut into mine, knowing and suspicious.
I shrug, attempting nonchalance. “Ahhh…no.”
“Elyse.” She glares at me, using the Mom voice—which still works on me, even though I’m thirty-two.
“No, Mom. There’s nothing you need to know about Jamie.”
“Jamie, is it?”
Crap. “Um. Yeah. Jamie Trent. We’ve…spoken a few times.”
Mom’s eyes are narrowed to slits. “Aiden talks about him all the time. Practically worships the man, it seems to me.”
“He’s a great principal and a great coach.”
“And he’s giving you quite a look, if you know what I mean.”
I glance at Jamie—he is, indeed, staring at me in a telling way; I look away and meet her eyes. “Mom…no. Just let it go, please?”
She shrugs. “It’s just that he’s awfully handsome, and he really seems to have taken a shine to Aiden.”
“Handsome, is he?” Dad mutters. “He ain’t so pretty.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh stop, Dad.”
“He’s a darn sight better than that pathetic worm of a loser you were married to. That boy was as useless as a screen door on a submarine.”
“Dad.”
“What? He couldn’t find his ass with both hands and a flashlight. Didn’t know what he had with you, never appreciated you, and I never liked him.” He gestures at Jamie. “I ain’t even met that boy, and I like him a hell of a lot better.”
“Dad,” I snap.
