An Accidental Family

"Shit, that's tough man," Ted said shaking his head in sympathy. With a quirk of a smile he continued, "well, sorry to say it, but your dad sounds like an asshole. But football is awesome. Hang out and watch the games with us for a while and you'll see."

Sue just shook her head and went back to her book.

Jason stayed and as the game progressed, he became more and more focused on the screen. He started asking questions about players and positions. "Why does this player move across the formation before the play? How does that player know who to block? What is the quarterback saying before each play and what does it mean?" For a kid who knew very little about football he asked some good questions.

Finally, towards the end of the fourth quarter he asked, "why did the quarterback throw to that receiver? The receiver on the other side of the field was about to come open over the middle."

"Well, he probably didn't see that receiver coming open or didn't think he would have time to throw to them and went with his other option instead," I replied.

"It was the wrong choice," Jason said with conviction.

"I guess you need to get out there and tell him that then," Ted said with a wink and a laugh.

"I would, but no one will play with me," Jason replied. "I'm not any good."

"You're not any good YET," said Sue jumping into the conversation.

"Being good at football isn't some intrinsic part of who you are. Sure, some people can run faster or jump higher, or have other traits that make football easier for them. If you practice, though, you can get better at pretty much anything. Who knows how good you could be with enough time and patience? In fact, JT used to play football in high school, and I am sure he could train you ... right JT?"

I looked at Sue who sat smirking in her chair.

I looked at Ted who quirked his shoulders in the universal sign for 'I have heard worse ideas'. Or maybe it was the sign for 'never disagree with my wife if you want continued happiness in your life.'

I looked at Jason who sat on the couch avoiding my gaze. Sighing inside I asked him, "What do you think buddy? Do you want to learn to play football?" I asked, hoping against hope that he would say 'no'.

"Sure, that would be great," he said. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning, 6:30 AM before you head to school. We are going to start with running until you puke and then, if you still want to learn, we can take things from there."

Monday, January 20, 2014

My alarm went off at 6:25AM.

What the actual fuck was I thinking suggesting a morning run. I hated running. I hated running when I played football. I hated running when I quit playing football. Hell, most of the time I found walking to be barely tolerable. I wasn't the biggest fan of mornings either. I decided to lay in bed pretending that I hadn't agreed to this madness while under the influence of football and beer.

I heard a faint knock on the door.

Damn.

"Coming," I croaked in my semi-hungover state, while I pulled on a pair of joggers and a t-shirt. I didn't own a pair of running shoes, so I put on the closest facsimile that I had and went to the door. Jason stood there in a pair of ratty old shorts, a t-shirt that was a couple of sizes too large and a pair of trainers from a discount retailer that barely fit his feet.

Jen was a good mom, maybe even a great mom given her circumstances, but money was tight for her and Jason. I didn't know exactly how tight at the time, but I knew that things weren't good and clearly the funds didn't extend to new athletic gear.

"Okay, let's do this thing," I said to him with far more enthusiasm than I felt.

We walked down the stairs to the parking lot, and I led Jason through an abbreviated warm up. It was a tough to say which of the two of us was less flexible, but it was close either way. After some painful stretching we set out.

I had ambitions to do a few miles that first day, maybe mix in some up-tempo sprints with some jogging. It turns out, however, that a decade is a long time to take off between workouts. Our run quickly devolved into a couple minutes of jogging followed by a minute of walking while desperately winded.

'At least no one was watching', I thought to myself as the preacher's car drove by with a friendly honk and a wave from his grinning kids. Swell. Just swell.

We made it home, barely, in just over half an hour driven mainly by pride and an unwillingness to quit before the other did.

"Well, that was fun," I said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "You did great buddy, I said I would run you till you puked, and you made it all the way with your breakfast intact. I'm proud of you and will see you at the same time tomorrow morning if you'd like."

Jason enthusiastically agreed and went up to his apartment while I went home to mine, closed and locked the door, and then walked over to the sink and vomited.

What had I gotten myself into?

Saturday, February 15, 2014

It's amazing how quickly old skills can come back to you with a bit of dedication and an annoyingly punctual teenager knocking on your door every morning. After that first run, I managed to keep my breakfasts from making any more unwanted reappearances. Jason showed real persistence in his training, if not a lot of raw coordination or foot speed.

After the first week of jogging, I started adding in some body weight exercises to our morning routine with push-ups, sit-ups and squats adding a nice frisson of muscular agony to the already exciting morning menu of running and stretching. But again, Jason took it all in stride and did his best to keep up. Never once did he complain or ask me to go easy on him.

Despite my gruff demeanor, I had to admit that it was kind of fun working out again and seeing Jason learn. I loved how hard he pushed himself. I also loved the smiles I would get from his mom as she left for work in the mornings while we worked out. One smile from Jen could last me through a full day at the shop.

------

That Saturday morning, I decided that I would buy a new football and some equipment for our training. I thought I would also look at some new footwear for myself and for Jason. Although he did his best to hide it, it was clear that it was not comfortable for him to run in shoes that were at least a full size to small. I knew Jen couldn't afford new ones for Jason, but I figured getting him some trainers that fit was the least that I could do to support his newfound love of football. It would also be my way of saying thank you to him for getting me up off the couch and working out again. My back and knees felt better than they had in years, and I even noticed that a couple of pairs of my shorts were getting baggy at the waist where they had been overly snug for at least the past half decade (yes, I don't go clothes shopping very often—so sue me).

I was down the stairs and most of the way to my truck before I spotted Jen standing dejectedly in front of her car. The hood was up, and she was staring at the engine. As a mechanic, I had seen that pose many times. Roughly translated it meant "shit, I hope this isn't going to be too expensive to fix."

I also noted in passing that she was wearing jeans that seemed to have been painted on to her legs and her magnificent behind. The slight bend in her waist as she leaned forward accentuated her otherworldly butt and the lack of visible panty lines suggested that she was sporting a thong (or less) under that masterwork of fabric engineering. Pulling my eyes up with difficulty I walked over to see if I could help.

"Hey Jen, having some car troubles?" I'll admit it wasn't the smoothest line but, in my defence, I was a bit distracted.

"It won't start," she replied, her voice raw with frustration and worry.

"Do you mind if I take a quick look?" I asked, "it might be a straightforward fix."

"If you don't mind, that would be great," she replied.

I got in the driver's seat, moving it back as far as it would go (one of the hazards of being 6'2") and tried the key. The engine sputtered and turned over then died.

"Has it been misfiring or running rough?" I asked Jen as I got out of the car and came back around.

"Both, actually," she said looking embarrassed. "I know I should have got it looked at before now, but it's been a rough few months money-wise so I didn't bring it in. I had planned to get it looked at as soon as I got back on top of things."

Listening to the engine I told her, "I think the issue is likely with your plugs or ignition coils. I should be able to fix either for you. If it's the plugs, I am pretty sure I have a set at the garage. Let me go grab them and my tools and we will see what we can do."

Jen looked uncomfortable and looked away, "that's really kind of you JT but I don't have the cash right now to pay for the work. Let's just leave it ... maybe I'll get lucky, and it will start later once it warms up a bit."

That seemed like a very poor idea to me, but I remembered what it was like to be desperately tight on cash like mom and I had been after my dad passed.

"Hey, no charge for helping a neighbour. Maybe you can pay me back with some home cooked meals or something. If I am going to get back in shape working out with Jason, maybe I should also improve my diet ... and the smells that come out of your apartment when you're making dinner make my mouth water."

"It's a deal," Jen replied with a smile. "I really appreciate it."

"Okay, give me half an hour to head to the shop and back and then hopefully we can get you going."

"I can ride with you if you want some company," Jen offered.

"Sure, that would be fun." I replied, "but you will have to excuse the mess at the shop. I have been meaning to straighten up for the last decade or so, but there always seems to be better things to do."

Our conversation on the way to the shop was light and mainly revolved around Jason. I told her what a good kid he was and that he was working his butt off in our morning workouts. I was a bit surprised when Jen let out a sigh.

"If I share something about Jason, will you promise not to tell him I told you?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied.

"Jason is a great kid, but he has had his struggles in life. He was very late walking, and very late talking. My ex-husband and I were worried, so we took him to Atlanta for testing. The doctors said that he is on the Autism spectrum and to expect there to be challenges as he gets older. The good news, they said, was that with some extra support he would be able to lead a perfectly normal life, and even excel in areas like math and coding. But he would have a hard time understanding social cues and might find it difficult to make friends and fit in.

"I was so relieved to finally have a diagnosis, but my ex was enraged. He had been a star quarterback in high school but had flamed out in college. So much of his personality and self-worth was built around football. His dream was for Jason to succeed where he couldn't, so Jason's diagnosis crushed him.

"When Jason was still very young, my ex tried to force him to play, but he just wasn't very good. Catching and throwing were difficult, and the other kids and my ex weren't kind to him. He was always a bit different and had a hard time making friends and his challenges with football just made things worse.

"My ex took Jason's struggles personally. Once he realized that Jason wouldn't follow in his footsteps he basically checked out of our relationship. He started cheating on me with a stripper and a few months after that he was gone, leaving me with our son and the credit card debt he racked up wooing my replacement.

"I know you mean well by helping Jason, but I just worry that you are setting him up for another failure. You know he doesn't have a single friend yet at his new school? What happens if he tries out for football and things just get worse again?"

"Well, all I have seen so far is a good kid who is working his butt off every day," I replied as we pulled into the shop. "Will Jason make the team? Honestly, probably not. He is still young for the varsity team, and he is starting to play much later than most of the kids he will be trying out with. But at least he will end up in better shape and, with a bit of luck, have a chance to make some friends along the way. Now let's see about those spark plugs," I concluded as we pulled into the lot behind the garage and parked.

By the time I came around the truck to help Jen off the running board we were greeted by George who had come out of the office to say "hi". George was an older man, dressing in plain overalls and a white t-shirt. A jagged scar stretched from just above his lip until it disappeared in his hairline. He walked over with a limp, a vague but happy expression on his face.

"Hello JT. Hello pretty lady," he announced with a smile.

"Morning George," I replied. "This is my friend Jen. Her car needs some new spark plugs so I was going to see what we have in the back."

"Nice to meet you George," Jen said extending her hand. George looked at her hand but didn't respond.

"George," I said quietly. When he didn't respond I said more firmly. "George!"

He looked over.

"Maybe you could go and get Jen a glass of water and then check the oil in the truck."

"Okay JT. Will do." He turned and went back into the office.

Turning to Jen I explained, "George has worked here for as long as I can remember. He used to be a mechanic back when my dad still ran the shop, but he was in a terrible accident that left both that scar on his face and scars inside that are less visible.

When it became clear that he would never really recover after the accident, most folks thought that he would end up in an institution of some kind, but my dad would hear nothing of that. He kept his job here doing what he could, and dad covered the rest. George took over the gas pumps and greeting folks as they came into the garage. He is a bit of an institution in these parts."

"Wow, your dad sounds like he was a great guy," Jen said thoughtfully.

"He was the best," I replied. "If I am half the man that he was, I will be happy with my life."

George came back with a glass of water while I retrieved the spark plugs and my tools and we headed back to the apartment. Half an hour later Jen's car was back up and running.

"Thanks again," Jen said giving me quick hug, "you're literally a life saver. Do you want to join us for dinner Sunday night?"

"What, you don't have a date on the weekend after Valentine's Day?" I asked, gently teasing her. I hope she didn't notice my blush as she wrapped her arms around me.

"I have learned the hard way that Valentine's Day is not for single mothers," Jen replied sadly. "I expect that this weekend will be just as romantic as any of the other 51 weekends in the year ... which is to say, not at all."

"Alright then, non-romantic dinner on Sunday it is," I said with a grin. "Just let me know when you want me."

That Sunday, I decided that it couldn't hurt to bring some flowers for Jen on our not-a-date post-Valentine's dinner, so I stopped by the local grocers and bought an overpriced but now steeply discounted bouquet for her. This drew a headshake and long-suffering sigh from Jason but a smile from Jen, who put the flowers in a vase on the table.

Whether it was the flowers or my scintillating conversational ability, dinner was a success, and led to a new tradition of the three of us having dinner together on most Sunday nights.

Monday, February 20th, 2014

"Alright bud, let's see how do with a football."

We had just returned from our morning run and had half an hour before Jason left for school. It was time to start figuring out what positions he might be able to play. I started him out with some receiving drill since it was the position that I was most familiar with. Unfortunately, Jason was still not the fastest runner (although a month of training certainly helped). Catching was also a bit of an adventure for him.

"Okay, let me show you what a cut should look like and then you can try it again," I offered after a particularly problematic sequence that saw Jason both drop the ball and trip over his own feet. "Do you think you can throw me the ball?" I asked, a bit skeptically.

"Sure," he replied. "Where do you want me to throw it?"

"Throw it as soon as I make my break," I replied, jogging out ten yards before I began. "You see, the trick is to start your cut with your outside foot..."

I didn't finish the sentence. As I left my break Jason hit me right in the hands with a howitzer of a throw which literally spun me a half turn as I caught it.

"Holy shit dude, where did that come from?"

Jason looked back at me a bit sheepishly. "Throwing is just math. Well, math and physics. But physics is really math. So throwing is just math."

"If you say so dude. Let's try that again. Let me go a little deeper."

This time I broke my cut off at 20 yards and again he hit me in stride. Now this was promising.

We kept working until he had to leave for school. By that point we had determined that he could throw with accuracy up to at least 40 yards (or, more accurately, until we ran out of parking lot for me run down as he threw to me). I guess Jason was going to be a quarterback like his dad.

It came out later that after Jason's dad had left, he had done the only thing he could think of to get him to come back—get better at football. Where most kids would have looked at videos online or watched their favourite NFL star, Jason went to the library and learned everything there was to know about the physics of throwing. When he could, he would sneak into the back yard to practice what he learned. His dad never came back but his throwing got better and better to the point that I was genuinely impressed at what he could do.

What was less impressive was pretty much everything else besides throwing that Jason would need to do to be a good quarterback. Now I know you're probably asking yourself, isn't throwing just about the only thing that a quarterback has to do? Unfortunately, that is not the case. There is footwork, decision making, reading defences, evading the rush and, most importantly, leadership.

A team naturally looks to their quarterback to make the right decisions. A good quarterback doesn't need to be loud, doesn't need to be brash, but they need to be able to inspire their team when it counts. Right now, Jason couldn't make eye contact with anyone other than me and his mother which would make it difficult to carry on a conversation let alone lead a team.

One more trait that a quarterback needs to have, especially one with Jason's innate speed and agility (or lack thereof) was the ability to take a hit. Quarterbacks learn to read the defence and to anticipate the rush. They learn to move around in the pocket to buy time for a play to develop or move outside of the pocket to extend a broken play. But no matter how hard they work there will always be times when they take a hit. With his gangly limbs and painfully thin body, I worried that if Jason took a hit he might explode into his constituent limbs and body parts.

It was time for him to put on some muscle.

------

I hadn't done any weights in more than a decade. Heck, the push ups I was doing each morning with Jason were enough to nearly kill me. But I had never had the heart to get rid of the gym that my dad had set up for me behind his shop, so I figured that would be a good place to start.

"Alright Jason, you're going to play quarterback, that's seems clear. We need to start putting some meat on your bones. If your mom's alright with it, why don't you come by the shop after school, and I can show you how to start doing some lifting."