Recently, during a dinner of burgers and fries, my son Jacob looked down, nervous, and confessed he had something on his mind. I braced myself for typical teenage troubles—perhaps a bad grade or a crush—but instead, he surprised me with, “Mom, I really wish you’d think about letting me try out for the high school football team next year.” He leaned back, his hopeful gaze meeting mine, and I knew it was time to deliver the verdict I had been dreading: my answer would still be a firm “no.”
In our small town, football is practically a religion. The thrill of Friday night lights, promising young athletes, and a well-funded athletic program have captivated Jacob. Honestly, it’s hard to ignore the electric atmosphere. Watching games takes me back to my own high school days, and I can’t hear a marching band without reminiscing about my own time on the field.
While we’re not total football fanatics, our family enjoys the game. Sundays during the season bring the sounds of refs blowing their whistles and playful bickering about questionable calls. The aroma of chili simmering on the stove and a platter of nachos while cheering for our team is a cozy way to spend a chilly afternoon. Jacob, especially, has loved football for as long as I can remember.
However, my husband and I have consistently blocked that dream. When Jacob was younger, it was easy to dodge football enrollment. We’d simply claim scheduling conflicts or that I had missed the signups. The truth was, we both believed tackle football was too dangerous for young kids. Even with non-tackle leagues, the risk of concussions and other injuries is just too high.
My unease with Jacob playing tackle football is deeply rooted in our family’s experience. At just eight years old, Jacob suffered a severe concussion during a freak gym accident. Initially, he seemed fine—a bump on his head and a slight headache. But within hours, things took a turn for the worse. He couldn’t stand or recognize us, and we rushed him to the ER where a CT scan confirmed it: he had a major concussion.
The following weeks were grueling. Six weeks of brain rest meant he struggled with schoolwork, felt exhausted, and missed out on activities that risked another head injury. Watching him endure this pain and the long road to recovery left a lasting impact on me. It solidified my resolve to keep him out of tackle football, regardless of how much he wishes to play. As his parent, it’s my duty to protect him, and saying no to football is a boundary I am steadfast in maintaining.
I understand many parents choose differently, and I respect their choices. I’ll still support our local teams and cheer for his friends from the stands. But I can’t shake the fear that Jacob could suffer a lasting injury in a game or during practice.
Standing firm in our decision isn’t easy, especially when football is such a big deal around here. I know Jacob dreams of being one of those kids with a big number on his jersey. After we watched the movie Rudy, I could see the disappointment on his face, realizing he wouldn’t have those glory moments to share at reunions.
As we left the restaurant, Jacob put his arm around me and said, “I’ll forgive you for not letting me play football if you buy me an ice cream.” I couldn’t help but smile, agreeing because that small concession was worth it for his safety.
If you’re interested in more topics related to parenting and family dynamics, be sure to check out one of our other blog posts here. And if you’re exploring ways to expand your family, Make a Mom offers invaluable resources on home insemination. For further information about pregnancy and related topics, IVF Babble is an excellent resource.
Summary:
Deciding not to let my son Jacob play football was a challenging choice rooted in personal experience. Our family’s history with a severe concussion solidified my resolve to keep him safe. While I understand the allure of the sport in our small town, my priority remains his well-being, even if it means saying no to tackle football.