Despite my screams of "go, go, go", Keagan wants to
watch this over and over again. We oblige until it becomes
over-the-top-annoying, like after the third time we push replay. A few years
ago, I would have made fun of a mom yelling in shrills loud enough to break
windows. Today I could care less because it is my boy scoring two touchdowns, a
safety, and making eight flag pulls per game. When I see the stares, I want to
taunt with something like, "Hey, you'd be doing the same if your son could
perform like mine." And then I realize that I have taken football mom to a
level that exceeds what I had become as soccer mom. And that was bad. This week
I promise to sit quietly on the sidelines.
I am convinced my poor quality video clips will be shown on some pre-game show on a Saturday afternoon before one nationally televised game. If this doesn't come to fruition (and I can't even begin to imagine why it wouldn't), then I will take comfort in knowing their successes are not figments of my imagination.
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