Good Daddy
Went to a football game last night. My first time at a high school football (that would be American football to the non-US folk) game since back before I was married... In fact, the last time was around Halloween in '93.
So, we're there, me, all three daughters, Jake, and Kristal, and it's fun. The girls bound around, socializing, seeing different folks and whatnot during the JV game because, hey, who really cares about the JV game, right? It's Desiree's class, but it's football, so what does she care?
At one point when Becky has returned our way from her happy little socializing, this group of 8th graders (that are from the 8th grader football group) has taken up part of the row above and to our left. Yeah, that's fine, sit and do your little immature 8th grader stuff.
Snack kid comes around, and he's got popcorn and pretzel balls. Oh, fun, we'll take a bag of pretzel balls. So do the boys. No issues, right? Well, they're balls, cooked and salted like pretzels, about the size of marbles. The boys figure out that it's sorta fun to throw them at one another. Then they start throwing them at passerby.
Becky goes to stand by the fence and watch them. They throw them at her. I do the Dad thing and say, "Go kick their asses."
She tells them to quit and they laugh and it's funny and it's a great time. Whatever...
Well, eventually Allie is down by the fence with Becky. Right about the time Becky has signaled to a friend to go and steal the boys' bag of pretzel balls. Bag comes away with a "ha, ha!" but, there's still the ones in their hands. I have already stated that if any come and get me there's going to be some bloody boys in the literal sense.
With his last one, one of these idiots wings one toward the fence and tags Allie right at the base of her breastbone. Hard.
Now, I see this happen, and righteous Dad indignation fills me with its power. I looked over at the boys to see who did it, and sure enough, there's one making the "I screwed up" face. I took the two steps over to put me right in front of him, jabbed him with my finger and barked, "That's it! Sit your ass down, NOW! You're all done. You hurt my daughter. Park you fucking ass, and don't get up again! No more!"
He had the good sense to look petrified and back up to his seat. After a couple minutes, he came over and apologized to me (not to Allie, who was now in my lap, playing the tough girl, "No, it doesn't hurt, Daddy.") I told him to have better sense.
The whole group left and did not return. It took me several minutes to regain my focus on the game.
The part of that which I found truly ironic? The last time I was at a football game, I had to have a similar talk with a group of boys that were throwing things (because they did hit me). I was a lot younger and more visibly muscular back then. These days I'm just another biggish guy, but when you're in 8th grade, and a guy that's six foot and 220 tells you to sit down... you pay attention. Especially when he talks with the "Dad Voice."
The lesson to be learned... Don't throw things, you never know who's going to get hit. Or what reaction is going to follow.
So, we're there, me, all three daughters, Jake, and Kristal, and it's fun. The girls bound around, socializing, seeing different folks and whatnot during the JV game because, hey, who really cares about the JV game, right? It's Desiree's class, but it's football, so what does she care?
At one point when Becky has returned our way from her happy little socializing, this group of 8th graders (that are from the 8th grader football group) has taken up part of the row above and to our left. Yeah, that's fine, sit and do your little immature 8th grader stuff.
Snack kid comes around, and he's got popcorn and pretzel balls. Oh, fun, we'll take a bag of pretzel balls. So do the boys. No issues, right? Well, they're balls, cooked and salted like pretzels, about the size of marbles. The boys figure out that it's sorta fun to throw them at one another. Then they start throwing them at passerby.
Becky goes to stand by the fence and watch them. They throw them at her. I do the Dad thing and say, "Go kick their asses."
She tells them to quit and they laugh and it's funny and it's a great time. Whatever...
Well, eventually Allie is down by the fence with Becky. Right about the time Becky has signaled to a friend to go and steal the boys' bag of pretzel balls. Bag comes away with a "ha, ha!" but, there's still the ones in their hands. I have already stated that if any come and get me there's going to be some bloody boys in the literal sense.
With his last one, one of these idiots wings one toward the fence and tags Allie right at the base of her breastbone. Hard.
Now, I see this happen, and righteous Dad indignation fills me with its power. I looked over at the boys to see who did it, and sure enough, there's one making the "I screwed up" face. I took the two steps over to put me right in front of him, jabbed him with my finger and barked, "That's it! Sit your ass down, NOW! You're all done. You hurt my daughter. Park you fucking ass, and don't get up again! No more!"
He had the good sense to look petrified and back up to his seat. After a couple minutes, he came over and apologized to me (not to Allie, who was now in my lap, playing the tough girl, "No, it doesn't hurt, Daddy.") I told him to have better sense.
The whole group left and did not return. It took me several minutes to regain my focus on the game.
The part of that which I found truly ironic? The last time I was at a football game, I had to have a similar talk with a group of boys that were throwing things (because they did hit me). I was a lot younger and more visibly muscular back then. These days I'm just another biggish guy, but when you're in 8th grade, and a guy that's six foot and 220 tells you to sit down... you pay attention. Especially when he talks with the "Dad Voice."
The lesson to be learned... Don't throw things, you never know who's going to get hit. Or what reaction is going to follow.