Football Taught Me How to Connect With My Son

Growing up, I dreaded Sundays in the fall. My dad was a huge football fan, spending all day in front of the TV. While he watched any game he could, he was especially invested in his team, the New York Giants.

When Big Blue won, he was so excited. When they lost, he was visibly upset, and I would retreat to my room to avoid his grumpiness. I happened to be home from college when the Giants finally won their first Super Bowl in 1987. I remember my dad—this big, burly guy — crying. I could not believe what I was seeing.

I found the game silly. Why would anyone care this much about grown men throwing a ball around a field and taking each other down? I married a man who didn’t care about football nearly as much as my dad.

And yet, somehow, in my 50s, I have become a genuine football fan.

What changed? I became the mother of a son who loves football.

Since my son was 5 years old, he has loved football. By age 6, he had a favorite team and unfortunately, that team was the New York Jets. They have only been in the Super Bowl once (1969, when they won) and haven't been in the playoffs since 2010.

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When he was little, football was a way of connecting with him. I didn’t really care about the game, but he liked talking about it, so I listened while he explained the rules and who were his favorite players. On Sundays, my son and husband would plant themselves in front of the big TV with big bowls of snacks. I’d join them, but not really pay too much attention to the games.

As my son got older and became more independent, football became a way to reach him. Grades, friends, college applications — these topics can be heavy and stressful. Conversations about football were lighter and provided an escape the day-to-day angst. Even on days when it seemed like he didn’t want to talk, he was always up for a conversation about his favorite team.

Once my son left for college, I wondered if I would forget all about football. While my husband liked to watch, I knew he would be less insistent about spending the whole day in front of the TV without my son being home.

Yet even though I didn’t feel obligated to relinquish the big screen on Sundays, I found myself gravitating toward it.  Somehow, I had become invested in this game I once found silly. I genuinely wanted to watch, especially the Jets. Without cajoling, I had begun following football on my own.