Father’s Pride
It was a cold night
Late in the season
A long season for this team
Of Friday night losses
One after the other
And few times to cheer
Late in the 3rd quarter
With the outcome never in doubt
The home team
Again hopelessly behind
When the coach began sending
The players from the bench
The ones who rarely played
In front of me was a small group
A family waiting
To see one of their own
Who rarely got to play
Except times like tonight
But you’d never know it
From how the family cheered
When number 56 trotted on the field
“That’s my boy!” yelled the man
And stood to clap and cheer
As the clock wound down
Mercifully it would seem
Now and then the announcer
Would say
“Tackle on the play by Mendoza”
And the father would stand and yell
“That’s my boy!”
Each and every time.
How can I explain how that touched me
In this case I just have no words
Here was a poor football team
Who rarely scored, rarely had an occasion
To even cheer
Losing every game
And here was a man
Whose son was only on the second string
Of a third rate team
And yet
Every little play the boy made
Every time they mentioned his name
And sometimes when they didn’t
The father stood and yelled
“That’s my boy!”
One of the very few cheers
From this side of the field
But loud
So everyone could hear
It echoed across the field
I know it could be heard on the field
“That’s my boy!”
It must have echoed in number 56’s heart
As it echoed in mine
A father’s pride is easy to find
On winning teams
In the eyes of those whose sons
Scored touchdowns or hit home runs
Or whose teams won the championship
But here is a father’s pride
At its deepest
Not only felt in his heart
But shared with all the world
At the top of his lungs
Over and again
Father’s pride
The team lost 42 to 7
But you would have thought
Number 56 scored time and time again
And I guess he did
In his father’s heart
MFM
05-07-06
10:43 PM
Aunt Dot’s
I have wanted to write this for a long time. This actually happened at a Lake Worth High School football game before I became a School Board member. Robin was appearing at half-time with a group of her 6th graders. I stayed for the game even though it was so cold, but once the father started cheering, for some reason, I couldn’t leave. The team lost 42 to 7 but you would have thought number 56 scored time and time again. And I guess he did, in his father’s heart. (Hmmm. I had to add the last part to the poem).
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