what is going to happen next, especially with our kids. A few weeks ago I noticed Hilary limping around the house, moaning and groaning, acting like an old woman. Later she was fixed on the couch with a heating pad on her shoulder. What caught my eye were her legs. They looked like leopard skin, the spots being bruises and scrapes. I assumed she had probably lost control during the latest midnight run down Provo Canyon on her long board. I resisted the urge to lecture, knowing it wouldn’t do any more good than the last time.
A week later, Hilary turns up lame again. She hobbled in from the laundry room, the basket over-flowing with big, bold, wide-striped jerseys. They were all the same. Hilary is always bringing home strange clothes from DI. This was different. She dumps this mountain of color on the floor and starts folding jerseys and tucking them into this huge duffle bag. I demanded, “Hilary, what is going on here?”, she answered, “It’s my turn to do the laundry”.
After a strenuous interrogation, she broke and spilled the beans. A couple of months ago while driving around, thinking of things to do, one of her friends suggested, “Let’s go try out for the Utah Valley University rugby team. It’s a club team so you don’t have to be a student.” This friend is twice as big as Hilary. The three girls went to the first practice. Only one of them went to the second practice… yes, that would be Hilary.
Like Lebron, I’m asking myself, “What should I do?”. We have friends who won’t let their big strong boys play football because they might get hurt. Now my 115 lb daughter is telling me, “Football is for wimps; I play a real sport”. I want to protect my daughter from harm. We teach our children not to play in the street so they won’t get run over by a truck. We teach them not to play rugby so they won’t get smashed and broken between two Tongans.
I was dying, literally, to go to her game last week, but had a prior commitment. I sent Bryan, instructing him to run out on the field and stop things if it got ugly. In his debriefing after the game, he said with a look of wonder on his face, “Dad, Hilary is really intense! She hit this girl and she didn’t get up.” I started my rant and he interrupted, “No dad, not Hilary, the other girl did not get up. They helped her off the field and she didn’t play ‘till the second half.”
So that’s what’s new at our house. Hilary has a game Saturday in Grand Junction, Colorado against Mesa State College at 1:00 pm. Nothing is going to keep me from this game. I’m feeling a little less like Lebron these days, though I’m not sure if I should. Yesterday as Hilary was lacing up her cleats, gathering her mouth guard and heading out the door for practice, I said, “Wait, Hilary” she turned quickly with that “Dad I really don’t have time for this right now, I’ve heard this way to many times.” look on her face. I walked up, gave her a little slap on the butt, and said with all the earnestness I could muster, “Hilary, go knock somebody on their a**”. My how her expression changed. After a few giggles and with that confident, “Dad I’ve got this all taken care of” look on her face, she was out the door.
Richard
