Three months before we walked into Creston Field in Bellhaven, football was still ordinary in our house.
That is difficult to explain now.
Nothing involving Caleb felt ordinary by the end.
But once, Sunday football meant Daniel complaining about coaching decisions from our sofa.
Caleb correcting his statistics.
Me pretending I did not care while yelling louder than either of them whenever an official threw a flag I disliked.
One Sunday, Caleb looked at me.
“Mom, do you even know what pass interference is?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“When the other team cheats.”
Daniel laughed so hard he dropped a chip.
Caleb pointed at him.
“See? Dad knows you don’t know.”
“I know injustice when I see it.”
“That is not a rule.”
“It should be.”
Football meant snacks.
Arguments.
Noise.
