I work, I have three kids, a husband, a dog and a household to maintain (where cleanliness and organization that will inevitably never live up to my standards) but regardless, those are all just lame excuses that don’t hide the predictable fact that I am inherently behind schedule… always. I obviously inherited this gene from my grandfather where stories prevail of him running down runways to catch a flight in the midst of a departure in motion. My mother was scarred by those memories to the point of showing up twelve hours prior to a flight to this very day but I tend to lean more toward my grandfather’s laissez faire attitude of arriving with seconds to spare or even occasionally just moments too late and I do not restrict this behavior to only include airline flights. I am fashionably late for everything!
So, it should come as no surprise when I arrived at Riley’s football game three weeks ago, predictably missing the first few minutes of the game, to find his hand bandaged. I questioned my vision and retraced the previous day - had I forgotten about an nagging injury (yes, there are always football injuries and you learn to ignore them unless they demand immediate medical attention). Sure enough, I watched Riley sit on the sidelines for the remainder of the game only to find out he hurt his thumb in the first few minutes of the game. The pain was enough to warrant a trip to the ER upon completion of the game, where a bad sprain was diagnosed, a split was secured and rest was prescribed, including a week or two of NO football. It should be noted here that should you ever have to sit in a 4 by 4 room with an adolescent boy who just completed a football game you should be given an honor for not violently throwing up from the stench! Riley cleared the waiting room and had nurses checking MY vitals declaring they could smell the “football” on him a mile away – yet they locked me in a room with him while they took their sweet time attending to people with heart attacks and strokes all while I was experiencing of my own life threatening condition of aspirating on my own vomit which I suppressed to avoid embarrassment by all. Eventually we were released with strict orders to “baby his hand” and take a long, hot shower. I took my long, hot shower in the form of a big glass of cabernet.
Come Monday Riley has had enough of sitting out of practice and insists on securing a release to once again play football. I set up an appointment with the nurse practitioner erroneously believing she will be naïve enough to grant us a release simply based on our request. She lectures, she offers physical therapy options, she stressed the potential impact of a reinjury, she tried on 20 different splits, for nearly an hour which causes me to be late once again (this time I don’t assume the blame for my tardiness – I wholeheartedly threw this office under the bus) but in the end we secured Riley’s release to play by promising that his trainer would tape up his thumb forever and always. I’ll admit, her lecture did make me reconsider my decision to abide by a teenage whim depicting when to “back-burner” an injury but my questioning was short-lived.
I arrived at the game on Thursday (yes, a few minutes late – seriously, Riley got hurt one time when I was a few minutes late, that’s a once in a lifetime event, right?) only to have another father approach me, pointing at me saying “can you believe your son”? Oh great, he hurt his thumb again I immediately wonder… I knew I shouldn’t have let him play! This dad obviously saw the look of confusion on my face and said “Oh no! You did NOT just miss his touchdown??” His TOUCHDOWN – are you flipping kidding me? He plays defense – he can’t get a touchdown!! He proceeds to describe to me the “greatest touchdown ever” where Riley was so determined, he picked up a fumble, immediately had three guys hanging off him and he drove for 6 or 7 feet before he went down reaching the football over the end zone to secure the 6 points. The most amazing touchdown ever and I missed it! I didn’t care – I could see it all happen in my mind. I probably would have cried had I actually seen it – how embarrassing that would have been for all. Riley got his five minutes of fame and he didn’t disappoint. Parents were commenting, kids were all over it on facebook. I emailed everyone I knew. Uncle Warren even called his Mom. Riley got a touchdown!!!
Riley can recall very little about his famous touchdown despite my repeated requests to have him replay the scene again and again. Many defensive linemen never see (or seize) an opportunity like this but Riley saw the loose ball and wasn’t letting anything or anyone get in the way. He was going to make these five minutes of fame worth the memory. What Riley remembers most is the surreal feeling. In that mellow manner so befitting of Riley he nonchalantly tells me “I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. I wondered if it really happened. I was like… did I really just get a touchdown?” I have to hide my tears of pride every time I torture him with a replay. The novelty of this famous touchdown may have worn off with Riley (which just proves that I take more pride in this accomplishment than he does) but don’t you think every lineman dreams about this exact same scenario where of course, they themselves play the leading role? Riley owns his own version of this story now, one where he is the star – although it’s a story I will probably retell way more times than he ever will.
For those of you who are hoping that the moral of this story is that I have learned to be punctual I’m afraid to admit you’ll be most disappointed. Riley got a safety the very next game – two more points, again during the first few moments before I had yet to make my fashionably late appearance. He’s racking up the points so I don’t want to mess with a good thing? He’s on a roll, why jinx it? So, I’ll keep showing up late, you know, just in case… (not that I could consistently be punctual if I tried – remember, this is an inherited gene – it’s something I was born with!)
I’m the Proudest Mama… even if I’m rarely on time to catch all the action.
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