Covid Turned Me Into a Football Mom

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Jake makes his move from the blindside. He positions himself on the far right of the defense and then bolts towards the opposing quarterback like a hawk diving for its prey. Just before he can reach his target, a massive offensive lineman sends Jake tumbling sideways.

I sit on my hands in the bleachers as he springs back up and takes his place for the next play. I’m still astonished by this football-playing side of my son. My hopes of avoiding the tumult of youth football, thanks to my progressive (dare I say feminist) parenting and Jake’s previous disinterest in contact sports, seem to have evaporated. Yet, there I was last Friday night, watching intently as Jake hustled out on the field for punt coverage.

Over the years, both my teenage sons enjoyed tossing spirals to their dad in the backyard, while I snapped pictures of the beautiful sunsets behind them. On Sundays, they woke early to catch NFL RedZone as I tackled the crossword puzzle. Their father and I had always been concerned about aspects of the game, like the long-term effects of concussions and the sometimes primitive behavior exhibited by players on and off the field. I thought surely some of this awareness would resonate with them. Neither Jake nor his older brother ever expressed interest in playing.

As Jake’s sophomore year approached its halfway mark, I believed I had successfully avoided the cringe-worthy sounds of helmets colliding or the sight of my child limping off the field, leaving me to wonder about the implications of an MRI. Jake, a swift runner, had opted for sports like archery and fencing at the local community center. He gravitated towards medieval activities and was far from aggressive; his aspiration was to become an ornithologist.

However, just days after turning sixteen in February 2021, Jake received his driver’s license and then surprised us by asking to play football. He explained that there would be a spring season with weekly free Covid testing at school, and players would wear masks when not using mouth guards. He assured us it would be safe.

The combination of a new driver’s license and a request to play football challenged my parenting philosophy. How could I allow my beloved son to navigate two of the most dangerous environments in our rural county – highways and football fields – simultaneously? I had already been anxious about Covid; now I had to confront the risks of repeated head injuries?

After lengthy discussions with my husband, I sensed that refusing Jake’s request would be tough. We had been strict about video games and limited cell phone use until they turned fourteen. But Covid had altered everything.

As the months of isolation dragged on, my concern for Jake grew, surpassing my worries for his older brother. The lockdown coincided with Jake’s freshman year when he had finally begun to feel comfortable with his classmates and found his niche on the track team. He excelled in his only track meet of 2020, winning the triple jump and the 400. Then my phone chimed loudly with news that all flights into the US were grounded. School closures followed shortly after. So much for track meets.

Jake adapted well to virtual learning, but he spent an excessive amount of time in his room. His mood soured, especially around his older brother, who had the freedom of a car and a more established social circle. Jake was not alone; the CDC reported a 31% increase in emergency room visits for mental health issues among 12- to 17-year-olds in 2020. I found myself among the 46% of parents in a January 2021 University of Michigan C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital poll who stated their teenagers’ mental health had declined during the pandemic.

Thus, during the second year of the pandemic, I knew it would be difficult to deny Jake’s request to play football, and ultimately, we said yes, even though it was the last sport I wanted him to engage in.

Initially, I took comfort in the fact that Jake had never played before; surely he would spend most of his time on the bench. However, by the second game, Jake – with his tall, lanky frame – had become a starting linebacker. For those unfamiliar with football, that’s on defense. It turns out he relishes being the speedy player rushing the quarterback and aiming for a sack. The term “sack” is now a regular part of our dinner conversations, replacing Jake’s once elaborate narratives about raptors.

Overnight, Jake transformed into a guy who fist pumps, applies ice to his bruises, and stretches out his hamstrings. He encourages his teammates on the field, finding his voice – even if it’s somewhat muffled by the mouth guard I insisted he get fitted for at the orthodontist. I’ve come to see that mouth guard as a protective talisman; as long he wears it, he’ll stay safe.

I’ve become one of the many football moms, while Jake has discovered a new community. Recently, he and his teammates, along with the rival team from across the county, gathered at In-N-Out Burger to devour double-doubles and relive the game in the parking lot. As he recounted the evening to his dad and me, Jake’s Friday night resembled a nostalgic scene from the Happy Days reruns I watched as a latchkey kid in the 70s.

He radiated happiness – with the game, the new friendships, and his newfound love for strawberry milkshakes.

I’ve invested in a comfortable stadium chair and watch in amazement as Jake, my once reserved boy turned tribal warrior, celebrates impressive plays with grunts and groans at any interceptions or fumbles.

I had been fully prepared to say no to football for eighteen years. But when Jake asked, I didn’t turn him down. It wasn’t the moment for refusal; it was the time to embrace any opportunity that sparked Jake’s interest, to connect with others, to strive for something.

It’s easy to attribute Jake’s newfound interest in football to the pandemic, yet I might cautiously admit that I appreciate how Covid nudged him to explore this sport. We are all striving to cross an elusive goal line, emerging from the collective grief of the pandemic, the upheaval and loss globally, in addition to the social unrest and cultural divides our country is facing.

Is football Jake’s answer? For now, yes. And for now, I’ll sit close to his dad, six feet apart from the other guardians allowed in the stands, no food or drink, double masks secured, keeping a watchful eye on number 23 as he gracefully bounds onto the field. Doing something his dad never attempted. Doing something his brother never chose. Something he knows his mother fears. And owning it with a fist pump, his own resounding yes.

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