Touchdown Timmy

Mom glanced over at me.  “Oh, Timmy, you’re not interested in playing football on the team this year, are you?”  Her voice sounded disappointed.

I shrugged my shoulders.  “Yeah, why not?”

She sighed.  “Well, I thought it might be nice if you spent more time with your studies this year.  Your grades really slipped last year in fifth grade and I think it would be good for you to get more involved in some other activities.”

“Like what?” I asked defensively.

“I don’t know, honey.  How about some different clubs that are academically oriented?”

Dad came to my rescue.  “Linda, if Timmy wants to try out for football, then that’s his decision.  Besides, he’s a fantastic player, and it would be a great way for him to meet some of the other kids in school.”

“Yeah, and I can cheerlead right in front of him, too,” Laura added.

“I don’t know, Timmy,” Mom said, disgusted by the idea altogether.

“Come on, Mom,” I whined.  “You always let Laura do what she wants.  Why can’t I at least go to the tryouts and see what it’s like?”

Mom didn’t give in so easily.  “Timmy, I don’t think you have any idea what playing on a middle school team will mean for you.  You’ve always played on leagues with kids the same age or younger due to your height.  You’re going to be up against seventh and eighth graders who will tower over you.”

“And crush every single bone in your body when they tackle you,” Laura added before giggling to herself.

“Be quiet,” I snapped at her.  “Nobody asked for your comments.”

“Linda, I think you’re overreacting to this way too much,” Dad objected.  “Timmy is excited about this.  Can’t you see that it’s a great way for him to get socially involved with other kids in his school?  It’s a very important thing for him to do right now.”

“Yeah, Mom,” I said while smiling at her.  “You just said a few days ago how I need to get out of the house more often and meet other kids my age.  Playing football is a great way to do it.”

Mom sighed deeply and then finally mustered a small smile.  “Okay, Timmy, if that’s what you really want.”

“Yes,” I hollered, pumping my fist twice in the air.  “Thanks, Mom and Dad.” 

“Just promise me you won’t get killed out there,” Mom added.  “You’re my one and only son, Timmy.”

I giggled.  “Trust me, Mom, you have nothing to worry about.”

Laura looked down at my skinny frame and laughed.  “Oh, yes she does, Timmy.  Maybe you’re forgetting about the fact that you weighed a measly fifty-four pounds last year in fifth grade.”

I sneered at her.  “I’ve gained four pounds since then, Laura.  The last time I got on the bathroom scale, I weighed fifty-eight.”

Laura did nothing more than crack up laughing.  “Those eighth graders are going to crush every single rib in your body, Timmy.  Some of them probably weigh three times what you do.”

Mom did nothing more than let out a disgusted groan.  I, however, simply shoveled another forkful of peas and carrots into my mouth, determined to make myself grow a few inches taller within the next five days.