I don’t want to coach the players to become like that. So if they grumble about running laps, so be it. Maybe they’ll learn.
At least I hope.
“Alright. Everyone, on the line.” Blowing my whistle, I watch the team line up and get ready for drills.
This is something they could do in their sleep. I love watching the team learning together. It’s one of the reasons I decided to start coaching high school football, though I never thought anyone would want me to coach their kids.
But here we are.
“Daddy!” A tiny voice calls from near the bleachers. Troy runs to me, his smile bright on his happy face. His nanny, Lottie, trails behind him.
“Hey buddy! Hi Lottie.” I grab him as he leaps into my arms. “How was school today?”
“We had to draw a picture of our family. Look!” He holds up the white piece of paper. It’s sticks and blobs, but I’ve gotten good at deciphering what he creates. It’s me, him, and… “Bud, what’s this?”
I point to the flatter rectangle that’s hidden in the grass.
“A puppy.”
“We don’t have a puppy,” I tell him.
“I know, but I want one.”
“What have I told you about that?”
“That I have to be six before I can get one.”
“That’s right.”
And when he turns six, I’m going to have to think of another reason not to get a dog. Being a single dad doesn’t give me a lot of free time. Add in coaching high school football and any time I have left is devoted to my son. No way would a dog fit into the equation.
“Only two more years.” He holds up three fingers and I grin at him.
Troy is the spitting image of me. Thank God.
He didn’t get a single visible gene from his mother. He’s all bright brown eyes and dark hair. With tiny dimples that pop out anytime he smiles and lashes that any woman would kill for, he’s going to be a heartbreaker.
“Two.” I hold up the correct number of fingers to him and he mimics me. “And you have to learn how to walk them too.”
“I can walk. Watch!” Troy shimmies out of my arms and shows me how he can walk a dog. “Leif has a dog and we play with him all the time.”
Leif. All I hear about is Leif this and Leif that. Two parents, three kids, and a white picket fence.
All things that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give the tiny bundle of joy that looks at me like I hung the moon. Troy doesn’t care about much. Football and dogs is about all my four-year-old cares about right now. But I want to give him more. This whole parenting thing would be so much easier if I had someone to do it with.
Troy’s mom isn’t in the picture. I don’t want her anywhere near my son. All she cared about was my money. A jersey chaser if there ever was one.
I’ll do whatever I can to protect him from her.
Anything at all.
Shaking the morose thoughts from my head, I turn to my ever-present nanny.
“I’ve got him from here, Lottie.”
Troy is now in the center of the huddle, trying to show the guys what to do. No other kid would have the gall to do what he does. Little brainiac loves telling the team what they’re doing wrong.
And they take it like the good guys they are.
