There is a brotherhood of man . . .

So I've been watching the two younger boys of a family from church since Friday night. Tomorrow night is when their parents get home. Kevin and Lynda farmed out the other three children. They asked me to watch these two because they've begun football practice in Dayton. Benji (9) and Jonathan (7) had their first practice yesterday.

Now, I've never been around football that much. I was the oldest of three girls. And while we each played sports here and there whilst growing up in lovely Exeter, we weren't what anyone would call jocks. We were MUSICIANS! We were THESPIANS! We were ARTISTS! And that was how we liked it. Jessica readily admits that she had two reasons for playing T-ball and softball: A) For the snacks that came after the games and B) If she played the catcher, she could look for bugs during the games. We weren't completely prissy, and we actually have pretty good capabilities when it comes to atheletics (when we put our minds to it) thanks to the Smith side of the family. But rough, tackling, pig-skin throwing, dirty, helmeted girls we were not. I enjoyed playing touch football in middle school for P.E., but that's where my involvement with the game ended.

Until now. On Saturday I went with the boys to pick up their gear. Helmets, pads, pants, shoulder pads, and jerseys were all on the agenda. The coach of Benji's team seemed to understand my completely baffled look and instructed me (partially) how to get them ready for the first practice on Monday evening. Crazy!

Last night I dropped the boys off. I believe it was the first time I was ever at a kids event where I saw more fathers than mothers. Many big guys hanging around a fence talking about their glory days as a high school player were to be seen and heard. All the moms seemed to be wearing a uniform of atheletic skirts/shorts, a visor, a sleeveless shirt, tennis shoes (sans visible socks), sunglasses and a whistle. A stark contrast to my jeans, t-shirt and flip-flops. I came back around the time the practice ended. Jonathan's team looked like it was ending first, so I hung out by them. I now understand why football players pat each other's butts! The mystery has been solved! The coach told them it was a way to encourage someone. I never quite figured out how that worked, but whatever.

I have come to the conclusion that I would not have made a good boy. Obviously. My Uncle Jacque teases me often by saying, "Lynette, you're a gay man trapped in a woman's body." When the boys were trying on their helmets for size, it was difficult to get them on. The coach encouraged them by yelling his insistence that they keep trying. Now I would have broken down into tears at that point if I were them, but they didn't. I liked the way I was handled gently by teachers and coaches and ballet instructors. I thrived under that sort of encouragement. If I'd been yelled at that way (though, all "encouraging"), I would have quit with the helmet stuck on my head and walked out (returning the helmet via my parents). I'm sure glad I wasn't a boy . . .

The title comes from the song "Brotherhood of Man" from the musical How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Speaking of musicals, I'm auditioning for Brigadoon tonight. We'll see how that goes.