My son, Peter Warren, turned 18 last week.
How did he go from this rascal on the left:
to this handsome man?
Not sure. But, we put together a little surprise for Petey on his 18th birthday…would you like to see it? (watch all the way to the end…)
Find out the REST of the story in tomorrow’s blog (with pictures!)
Still smiling…
Susie May
We’re still playing football here in Minnesota. In fact, today is our Section Finals. Three more games after this, and we win the state championship. (Just sayin’!)
But I’m not looking ahead to that. I’m looking behind, to see what we accomplished.
My middle son started playing football in 5th grade – way behind other kids in other schools because we simply didn’t have a football program at that time. And, we’d lived in Russia – no football there! And no tackling in 5th grade, either. All flag.
I remember the first game I saw him run for a touchdown. I may have run down the sidelines with him. I thought – yes, this will be fun.
The day he joined the tackle team, in 7th grade, and got to tackle was to his own admission, the greatest day of his life. Pete was born to play football. He played a few varsity games in 8th grade, and started in 9th grade. In his off season, he plays basketball and runs track – all so he can stay in shape for football. He holds two weight lifting records at the school gym. He made all conference running back last year.
And last week he broke the state record for touchdowns scored in a game (8).
But I have to say, through all his victories, my proudest moment of him came in last week’s game, after he was taken out of the game.
See, he plays with his younger brother, Noah. It’s not easy to be Noah – who is a rising star in his own right. But Noah is always dodging his big brother’s shadow. It’s not easy, because Pete casts it both ways- he plays Running Back on offense and Outside Linebacker on Defense. Noah plays Defensive End, so if you understand football positions, you know Pete lines up right behind his brother. No shadow dodging there.
Pete wants Noah to be his best, and an outside might accuse Pete of hounding Noah. Many times, after practice coaching occurs in our living room. There’s not a lot of mercy for Noah.
Until last week.
Two plays after Pete scored his final touchdown, Noah got hit in the knee, hyper-extended it and had to be carried off the field.
They won the game – their first playoff game. And as we met the boys after the game, I saw this:
Camaraderie. Pete carrying his brother off the field. A pride in his eyes. This is one of my favorite brother pictures.
One of my greatest hopes is that my children love each other, that they get along, encourage, support and…well, occasionally carry each other.
Touchdown.
I’m proud of Pete. Not because he scores touchdowns, but because he is becoming a man built for others.
Who has “carried” you in your life? A sibling? A friend? Share it here!
It’s no secret that I’m crazy about football. It’s such a courageous sport, regardless of what level you’re at. I’m especially nuts about small town, high school football. Our program is staffed by amazing coaches who believe that football is about molding men.
Absolutely.
I often brag (yes, I admit it’s bragging) about my son, #33, who has been starting since 9th grade, and found his legs in 10th as a running back. He lives for football, and spends his off season in the weight room and on the track, improving his 100 m dash time.
Admittedly, he’s a hard act to follow.
Courage in my home is found in my youngest son, #62. He came to me three years ago and said, “I want to play football, but…I can’t compete with Pete. I’m just going to be in his shadow.”
I looked Noah in the eyes and I said… “Don’t be Pete. Be Noah. Be your awesome self. Go out for a different position and rock it.”
Something shifted in his eyes and right then, I saw the flickering of courage.
He went out for football. His coach put him at defensive end. The very first game, my husband and I saw him in the huddle, shaking his hand, as if he’d been hurt. He ran to the sidelines after the next play and we saw him sitting on the bench. He’d jammed his finger.
My husband looked at me and said, “This is where he becomes a football player.” Then he got up and pulled Noah aside. They had a brief conversation. Noah nodded and the next play, went back on the field.
“What did you say to him?” I asked when Andrew returned.
“I told him there’s no crying in football,” (a morph of one of our favorite League of their Own lines). He smiled.
I imagine there might have been more to that conversation.
The next play, Noah exploded off the line and chased down the QB. That game he had four sacks, and two flying tackles. He was spectacular. And for the rest of the season, he dominated that 8th grade football team.
But high school football is a bit different. Bigger guys, harder hits, tougher coaches.
A lot of jammed fingers.
Noah played hard his freshman year, got in on kickoff and saw some playing time when the score was 40 – 7. (our lead). But we had superstar juniors and seniors on our conference winning team, so mostly he played on the Red Dogs. The practice team. Like Rudy (remember Rudy?)
This year before the season started, he began working out. Lifting weights. Showing up to captain’s practice. I asked him what his goals were.
He looked at me like I’d just asked him if he knew how to read. “Starting Varsity DE, of course.”
Oh. Shoot. See, the mom in me knew that the competition was tough for DE. That sophomore Noah, although good, wasn’t big enough, strong enough, fast enough to beat out a senior for that spot. I just didn’t want him to be disappointed. So I fretted, but kept my mouth shut.
Every year, we have a blue/white scrimmage before the season to introduce the team to the community and give the kids a final chance to compete for starting positions. It’s a fun community event where we get a taste of the season.
Oh, we’re going to have a great season.
(As an aside – here are the football moms. Note that ONE of us forgot to wear her football gear. Sheesh, get in the game, Susie. More football mom commentary to come.)
I have to admit, while I watched big #33 make some awesome plays, I glued my eyes to #62. He played DE on the white team (they split the teams in half), and….
Well, this is him.
Exploding. Chasing down the QB. Making tackles.
Who is this kid?
I thought he did pretty well. And apparently so did his coaches because….
He made Starting Varsity Defensive End.
Take that, Mom.
Courage. Belief. I see it in the eyes of my sophomore. I love it when my kids teach me things.
So congratulations, Noah, the next football superstar in the family. We are so proud of you.
Now, listen boys, go win us a state championship.
Your biggest fan.
Mom
My friend Tari made it even more epic. I love it so much, I just had to share.
Football season, here we come!
Yay!
Let’s not get confused here. I didn’t take a sudden mid-air hit and change sports. I have football in my bones.
As do my sons.
Works well for me, because they both play football for our local high school team. I lose my mind with joy between the months of August and November. If we go into the playoffs, I’m useless to humanity.
I pretty much go all out as a football mom, too. We live in the northwoods of Minnesota. The closest away game is three hours. Three. Hours. Some of our games are…wait for it…SIX hours one way.
You could say we’re invested.
But, only for football. I’ll be honest here…when the season is over, I’m done. Ready to hand in my pom poms, my stadium seats, my team gear. And, while my sons have in the past played basketball, it was with great joy that they told me this year that they’d be opting out of basketball in favor of bulking up in the weight room over the winter.
I like basketball, I do. In fact, I played basketball. (At five foot three, I wasn’t super, but I did have a nice outside shot). But, well last year the team played roughly 22 games. That’s a lot of bleacher time. So, I’ll admit, I wasn’t unhappy.
Apparently their football coach, now basketball coach had other plans.
Now, here’s a pretty well known Warren fact: My Warren boys are good at tackling, blocking and even pushing people over as they run, but throw them the ball and it’s just as likely to bounce off their helmets. (Hence, why one son is a defensive end, the other a running back. He learned to catch the pitch out this year, which renewed our faith in divine intervention). So, let’s just be honest and say that basketball isn’t a sport they might excel in.
Apparently, the coach didn’t care. He tracked them down and made them a deal. “You don’t have to handle the ball. Just rebound and block. We need you. In fact, show up after you lift weights, and you can just run plays with the team.”
Neato frito. No running lines. No fundamentals. And they get to play football on the basketball court. They signed on the dotted line.
Except, well…now I’m a basketball mom. Living in the bleachers at least twice a week. Hitting the road for away games. (okay, not quite so many as during football season, but…)
I had my grumble on until last Thursday when they emerged for their away game…and I saw this:
That’s right…dress clothes…and ties. Apparently, they have to dress up for away games.
How I love a young man in a tie. Suddenly I see manners and potential and the fruition of all my labor. I see hope that these young men might grow up to become amazing fathers and husbands. Leaders in their world.
Of course, just to remind me that indeed, they haven’t changed that much…
Still. Ties. Yes, I can fall in love with basketball.
You win, Coach.
Susie May in the Bleachers
Every year, we have a Mandatory Warren Event (I call them MWEs) at the start of football season. I require the attendance of my extended family at the Warren house in the Woods for our small town football season opener at home. It’s a weekend of chaos and eating and campfires by the lake, and touch football in the backyard (although my daughter seems to think it’s TACKLE MOM football. I limped for three days).
The highlight, however, is the Big Game. Seeing my boys (I have 2 football stars this year), run out onto the field in their gear, high-fiving their dad (the dads line up at the gate and make this cool football tunnel) makes a mom’s heart swell. I don’t care (well, not so much) if they win. Just that they took the field. And left all they had there.
This year, for the MWE game, we lost. It was a tough game against a team 3X our size (in players). They aren’t in our conference. They might not even be in our state. I think I saw Burt Reynolds playing QB. No wait, that was Adam Sandler. Or both.
Anyway, they had us down by 3 touchdowns at the half. When our boys charged out after the mid-game pep talk, however, they were revved to go. They picked up the ball and roared downfield for a score!
I got a little excited. So, I grabbed my cowbell and went wild in the stands (One can always use more cowbell). Only after the excitement died down did I realize…
I was wounded.
The cowbell has these little metal places on the top where it scrubbed off the skin of my knuckles.
Wounds. Football wounds. But you know, that’s just how we football fans roll.
Like I said, it was a tough game. We lost, Quite-A-Few-6.
These people helped balm the pain.
But this week we won.
(That’s Pete, our Running Back on the Left, and Noah, our Scary Defensive End on the Right)
I now wear mittens to the game. Because the cowbell is going to get a lot more use.
Go Cook County Vikings!
Warrens like football.
A lot.
And we had the privilege of hanging out with our boys’ football coach for the big game. We didn’t have money for jerseys…so we made our own.
As you can see, only ONE of us was smart enough to vote for the Packers. In fact, at the party, there were only 2 packers fan. Me. And Carl.
Go Carl.
There might have been some tension during the game.
Mostly because…the Warren family Football Trophy was on the line.
Guess who won?
See, it’s not just about winning the big game…you have to accumulate the most points throughout the ENTIRE SEASON. And the best stats during the playoffs.
Some people are just really sore losers.
Let this be a lesson to you, Warren Children.
You got your football genes from me.
(And, you’ll never get this trophy…mmmwwwhhhaaaa!)
Goodbye Football. See you next year.
Susie The Scrambler May
Football season is over.
I think we need to pause here for a moment of silence, of mourning…of WARMTH.
It was getting COLD sitting out there in the stands.
But my boys are worth it.
However, it was with great sadness that I couldn’t attend the final game of the season – the first playoff game. A five hour drive (one way), the game fell on a Tuesday night two days before I left for a big conference. Regardless of how I tried, I couldn’t make it work.
So I sat in my kitchen.
Alone.
Wrapped in a sympathy scarf. (a huge thank you to my pal Darlene Guinn for her compassion in outfitting me with my specialized Football Mom scarf!)
See, we had the storm of the century that night. Driving rain, 50 mph winds, 34 degrees. I shivered just listening to it on the radio. Peter said he couldn’t feel his arms five minutes into the first quarter. The refs had to hold the ball down until the center could take it for the snap. The fact that the Vikings even completed a pass is nothing short of a miracle.
And, speaking of miracles, God showed up.
The team shivered their way through the half-time pep talk, trying to find some warmth from the bus heaters. Peter said he’d never been so cold in his entire life. (And let’s remember, we lived in SIBERIA once upon a time!) As they were exiting the bus for the second half, the heat hadn’t touched their core.
But see, God is on my side. My MOTHER’s side. He might not care about the score, but He cares about my son.
As they stepped onto the field, a nearby transformer exploded from the storm.
The lights on the field blinked out.
The team had to retreat to the bus for another thirty minutes until they found a backup. I think had they continued onto that field, the entire team might have ended up in the ER, suffering from Hypothermia. (And let’s add here, that the coaches were pretty cold too).
However, by the time they took the field again, they could feel their toes, their arms, their fingers. And their spirits.
No, they lost, but the boys played their hearts out. They ended well, albeit cold. I was proud.
I worried/prayed/paced him home, still up when he pulled in at 3am. Then I wrapped him in a blankie and poured hot cocoa down his gullet. Because that’s what we mothers do, donchaknow.
So, the season is over. Basketball is on the horizon. I leave you with this, a glimpse of the fun. (it’s just a sort of flaky home video, but it captures the fun in the stands – as well as my husband’s Vuvuzella! Pay special attention to big #33!)
This has been your Cook County Vikings Football Mom report. Thank you for tuning in. See you next year!
Bring it, baby
I am a football mom.
I love being a football mom. I go to every game I can, even if it is four hours away. I sit in the rain, the snow, the sleet and I sing the school song. I ice bruises and layer on antibiotic to cuts. I talk through bad plays and listen to endless hours of strategy. I know the stats and formations of the opposing teams. And I have the NFL channel playing in my kitchen.
I am a football mom.
Or…so I thought.
Until I met….Kathy.
Kathy is also a football mom. But see, Kathy had a son who graduated two years ago, so she’s been this route before (my son is only a sophomore…a STARTING sophomore. Starting at Middle Linebacker and Fullback….but I digress….) so she knows that being a football mom isn’t just about listening to plays and driving to games and icing bruises.
It’s all about the look.
I thought I had my act together until I arrived at the game and realized that I had NOT brought my A game to the stands. I do not look like a football mom.
And see, it’s not just about the gear…it’s about the details.
These details.
And don’t forget the earrings. Earrings!! With her son’s number!
Blindsided! Blitzed for the tackle!
Worse, I looked around and discovered I was surrounded by the Varsity moms!
This is Lori. Her son is the QB, #11. Her husband is the coach.
Lori is a football mom.
Not only that, but she brought a GRANDMA to the game with her! In fact, you can’t see it, but there is an entire ROW of grandmas back there.
I don’t have a football grandma.
There are others like me in the stands. Like my friend in the pathetic pea green coat.
Kathy sure looks gleeful. Probably because her son just made a great tackle.
Whatever.
Fine, Kathy, if that’s how you want it.
I will get the gear. The blankie, the numbered hat, the button, the jacket…the earrings. Maybe even a tattoo. (Okay, maybe not, but…) I will not be benched. Sidelined. Sacked.
Because I am a football mom.
Game on, baby.
Susie “the Scrambler” May
When boys think they are indestructible.
When mom goes away on a business trip.
Blood.
Grime.
Ooze.
Touchdown!
Here's to my Fullback, who hereafter wants to be referred to as…X-Men Wolverine.
