OP-ED: My Kid’s Not Playing Football. Just Look at Me!

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Photo by Judy Rappaport

No way will my child play football — at least, not with those slow feet.

Oh, you thought this was another article about the permanent and debilitating effects repeated concussions can have on our youth? Hell no, I wish my son could play football and get a few dingers. We just both know that isn’t gonna happen.

I mean, c’mon, take it from me. When I lied about being baptized and played Catholic-league football in fifth grade, even the high fives from my teammates kinda hurt. These kids were like nine years old, 6’2”, 180 lbs., and only ate oats and frosted flakes. There’s no amount of lox and whitefish that’ll get you within 50 lbs. of these kids.

To my future son, you’re not gonna be a jock — just face it. Pick up a ukulele, learn some Jack Johnson, and call it a day. Yeah, a few kids will call you gay along the way, but that’s better than getting torpedoed at full speed by a full-grown man with a metal shell on his head.

On the bright side, maybe for Hanukkah I’ll get you a visor and you can start your coaching career.

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