Let's make one thing perfectly clear.

I love football.

Now, the reason I have to say that upfront is because I know there are parents out there who don't love it. Heck, I remember Greg Brady's mom weighing in against football when Greg wanted to join the team a thousand Brady Bunches ago.

A parent's concern for football is pretty much a cliché that is worth its cliché-ness.

But, having said that, you can count me out on the concern thing.

I love football. I love working on my computer on a rainy Sunday and hearing my husband watching football in the other room. I love how when I was a kid my dad bought me a St. Louis Cardinals raincoat one Christmas (my sister had Minnesota Vikings). Much of our relationship back then sort or orbited around football.

Years later, I played "powderpuff" football in high school. And some of my fondest memories involve my friends and I going to football games in Puyallup so many years ago.

I guess it is not much of a surprise then that my son's new passion has me tickled pink.

Our nine-year old is officially becoming a football kid. For years he has played soccer and basketball and baseball. But this fall, after a friend of mine asked Will to come and join in a clinic twice a week, my little boy has discovered his new passion.

He loves going out there, rain, wind, or sleet. He loves wearing his gear, and doing that slow football player jog while he carries his helmet under his arm. He seems to be growing up in front of my eyes as he transforms himself into a football player.

In fact, the other day when I dropped him off, he said, "Bye, Mom." This change in my name from "Mommy" to "Mom" did not go unnoticed. In fact, that one syllable title sort of floored me and made me sentimental, I admit.

I find myself looking at him and imagining the years to come. As I sit in the stands and cheer for his team, I imagine sitting in those stands in six or seven years, cheering and yelling and hearing the stuff of fantasy on the speakers ("Touchdown, Hennessey!").

The sad news about football is that, at least for the younger kids, it's not as robust as some of the other sports. Soccer is huge. Basketball and baseball both do pretty well. But if you are a 4th grade boy who likes to play football, you don't have many options.

That's why I was so glad that they organized the clinics this fall. It made a football kid out of my son, especially when he came back from one scrimmage and reported, with some wonder, that he had caught not one but two touchdown passes!

I think the kid is hooked. I hope that love of the game helps him, when not a lot the other younger boys around him play the game. But I keep telling him to hang in there, and before he knows it he will be on the turf at the high school.

In the meantime, the football league has found the perfect enticement. They made him the water boy last week. I have never seen him take a job so seriously. He got plenty of sleep the night before, and made sure he was ready in time. Heck, he wanted to go early so he could show the team that they made the right choice in giving him the job.

He found a couple of wonderful 7th graders who showed him the ropes and took him under their wing. He was, quite simply, in football heaven. And those strong, big football players? They could not have been nicer as they took the water from my son. Will came home with a serious case of hero worship.

I think it is safe to say you will see us out there in the coming years. Whether it is going to clinics or just carrying the water to the guys on the team, I think our son will find a way to fit football into his schedule.
I am sure, if the truth were told, that I can already imagine taking tickets, or making hamburgers on cold nights in the shack.

It just doesn't get any better than that.