Saturday, July 19, 2008

Real Men Drink Sippy Cups

The mom of big brother's friend Thomas leans toward me on the bleachers to whisper, "Am I the only one that feels nauseous about this? " I tell her I can relate. At the moment, she and I are witnessing the first pee-wee football practice for our oldest children. A large, muscular, visibly tattooed dad/coach is lecturing the boys about the seriousness of learning the basics of football. As his voice echoes across the field, most of the five/six year old boys are sitting up straight, listening like this is the most important man they've ever encountered. Others are busy horse playing, or looking up at passing planes, or picking their noses. The coach's tone becomes almost militant.

"Remember, young men, you are the team of the future for this league. One day, you may take us to the championship... Right?" "YEAH!" The boys shout.

The coach turns to address the parents, stressing the importance of good sportsmanship. Parents should remain positive role models, never bullying the boys on the field. My husband glances over at me, nervously. He's worried he'll have to bail me out of prison if a parent shouts at my little boy. The coach continues, "After all, don't forget, ladies and gentleman, just a few years ago these kids were in diapers." I turn to Thomas' mom to whisper, "Does this guy really think I'll ever forget that?" She shakes her head in agreement.

Now the actual practice part starts and it's like a comedy of errors. Big brother gets the ball during a drill. He's frozen on the field and the coach is jumping up and down, shouting "RUN!"
The boys are spastic and awkward, but full of enthusiasm. The coaches are busy taking notes. Like the supportive parents we are, my husband and I are having a good laugh watching the scene.

Eventually it's time for a drink break. The boys head back toward the bleachers. I hand big brother the drink I brought him. It's not Gatorade or bottled water. Mommy packed him an ice cold milk Sippy cup. He doesn't complain, but instead, slurps it up, unabashed. "You packed him a Sippy cup for football practice?" My husband is embarrassed for him. I defend myself. "Yes, real men drink Sippy cups." Big brother smiles proudly, drops the empty cup and heads back onto the field.

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Dear Internet Traveler,

Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.


Loren Christie

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