hurt

You know, I saw it coming. He got pulled from the game because he was playing scared and that just doesn't work. I'm fully aware these are 5th and 6th graders playing football on the Minnesota grass, inconsequential in the grand scheme of the world, but when I saw him on the sideline I felt him inside me. When your kid hurts, you hurt.
I remember taking him to the doctor ten years ago to get immunized. He cried, I cried and the nurse with the needle cried. Four years later in the same room in the same clinic he was old enough to talk. As I held his legs he said, "No dad, Wait! Wait!" The needle pierced his little thigh and the pitch of his voice rose in desperation. Once again, he cried, I cried and the nurse cried. So when I saw him on the sideline, pulled from the game because he wasn't good enough, I knew his eyes were watering and his lips were quivering, so mine did too.
Later I stood in the kitchen for a long time, wondering what to do. Should I knock on his closed bedroom door and ask if he's OK? Should I leave him alone? Should I tell him to suck it up? Shit, I didn't know. I mean really, who does?
I'm not going to tell you what happened; that's between us. What I will say is I love being a dad, with all my heart.

Thanks for the picture, Wolfie.