First Football

M has a little obsession with football. One that is fueled, naturally, by his daddy. I'm ok with it. He is sometimes persuaded to do something if told it's "like a football player." He likes to wear his bike helmet and call himself a football player. He gushes with excitement when there is football on the TV, and loves to look at Sports Illustrated with daddy.

So, tonight we ventured into the chilly evening for a local high school football game. How chilly? The cheerleaders wore lined track pants, fleece pullovers and earmufflers. As we trotted through the parking lot to the bleachers, M repeatedly squealed "Football GAME!! Football GAME!" running faster than his little legs could manage. We snagged a bench in the bleachers surrounded by raucous students with cowbells (it's their home team, it's homecoming, they are entitled). Bonus: fireworks with every touchdown. He loved that. "Firecracker BOOM!"

Bundled though we were, I was shivering as the first half neared an end and had lost feeling in my nether-regions. By that time M had discovered the thrills of climbing the bleachers and also of clapping when the rest of the crowd clapped. Past his bedtime, with parents nearly chilled through, we made our exit accompanied by his sobs: "More football game! Another football game!" This is one all-American boy.