This year, I wished to start a Thanksgiving tradition: a family football game. Touch football, mind you; I like my relatives and wish no bodily harm. I did, however, want my nuclear family to win.

I prepped my own kids with a few passing plays. Nothing as complicated as Mack Brown’s offense at UNC. Simple routes like the slant, the hook, and — their favorite — the bomb. The plan was for them to run as fast as they could, and Dad would throw the ball as far as he could. I envisioned the touchdowns.

While our relatives were receptive to the initial idea, other tasks took precedent that early afternoon, including preparations for the feast. I won’t argue with that. When the time came for kickoff, the only available players were eleven years old and younger. Still, I was game. And the other adults appreciated that I had the hungry kids out of the kitchen.

We suffered a delay of game, however, when the cousins argued about picking teams. Finally, we thought the sides were sorted out, but my daughter changed her mind. This sparked a more furious debate.

My younger son, the middle child and often the peacemaker, piped up, “Why don’t we all run the bomb and see who can catch the ball?” It sounded good to me — hike! They took off, and I lobbed the Nerf ball into the crisp air. My oldest almost snagged it, but it bounced off his hands and rolled crazily across the grass. The kids raced after it and piled on each other. A cousin emerged from the scrum, holding the ball aloft. My daughter was thrilled for him: “touch up!” she yelled, triumphant, as her brothers tried to explain that the term was touchdown. She remained adamant; he was holding the ball up!

All of this excitement drew the attention of the house wolf, who had been dozing in the sunshine beside the back steps. After the kids lined up again and took off for another bomb, she streaked like a missile or UNC wide receiver Tez Walker. She grabbed the bouncing ball in her mouth and raced all over the yard, weaving in and out of laughing children, avoiding their gleeful tackling attempts. Eventually, the kids were scattered across the lawn on their backs, breathless with effort, and the house wolf triumphantly chewed the corner of the Nerf ball like a stogie. Touch up! A family tradition was born.

Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the author of “Little Big Moments,” a collection of mini-essays about parenting, and “Tigers, Mice & Strawberries: Poems.” Both titles are available most anywhere books are sold online. Taylor-Troutman lives in Chapel Hill where he serves as pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church and occasionally stumbles upon the wondrous while in search of his next cup of coffee.

 

Chapelboro.com does not charge subscription fees, and you can directly support our efforts in local journalism here. Want more of what you see on Chapelboro? Let us bring free local news and community information to you by signing up for our biweekly newsletter.

Related Stories
None