NFL Evolution will feature a guest columnist every Tuesday, each with a different viewpoint of player health and safety from the youth level to pro football.
By Amanda Rodriguez, NFL Evolution columnist
My middle son begged me to sign him up for football when he was five years old.
Like tears smearing the eye black he wore for fun -- and dropping in little black rivulets onto his white Niner's jersey -- begged me.
I said, "Go wash your face, it's bedtime."
I wasn't ready.
He was a baby. He hadn't even been off to school all day alone yet which, in my book, made him too young for someone to tackle his little body to the ground.
Plus, I had an actual baby (his brother was under 2 at the time), and I'd heard "the football practice is every day of life" horror stories.
So, judge me if you must, but I wasn't ready.
With research on my side (they say tackle football for kindergarteners is not a great developmental choice), I pushed him to another year of soccer.
And then another.
I'm not totally proud of making him do something he wasn't passionate about, but I wanted him to be physically active. And I really needed to get myself right with the whole thing before we fully immersed ourselves into the culture of football.
Shortly after he celebrated his 7th birthday, he put his foot down about soccer. Since I was done arguing about it and comfortable with him moving on, I signed him up for football that fall.
Only, as the season approached, I realized that I still wasn't truly ready. I had a lot of trepidation about him getting involved in a sport that wasn't looking awesome in the media. Even the President had some uncertain words to say about America's greatest game. But, in an effort support him, I decided I needed to get there.
Now, don't get me wrong, I love football. Like, probably a teeny bit more than the average former cheerleader who doesn't like to run or sweat.
But those guys who I'm screaming at my TV screen for aren't my babies. If they wind up injured and unable to play in the playoff game next week, I will feel sorry for them and my fantasy team. But not like I would if it were my child lying on the field clutching something in pain.
I couldn't accept that as our reality -- that injury was a likely part of his future. That football is just dangerous and that there was nothing to be done about it.
For me, getting involved in my son's sport was a natural response to eliminating the fear him playing was growing in my heart and mind.
So I found a place for myself in our football organization. I got involved in the NFL's Health and Safety initiatives. I soaked up as much knowledge as possible about how I could help to create a better safer game for my little boy.
The more I got involved, the more I learned about the game and how it changes lives and inspires greatness, the more involved I wanted to be. Eventually, the work I was doing wasn't just for my little boy (and his little brother who is following eagerly in his footsteps), but for all of the little boys (and girls) who want to put that hat on and go hard with their team.
Which is how I found myself sitting in the USA Football Player Safety Coach training session in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, this summer.
My team selected me as their coach representative, and I accepted, because, of course. My mission in life has become making football safer for kids, so making it officially my duty seemed like the most logical next step for me.
Only, I never really thought of the logistics of it. Like the fact that I would be the first woman to ever step foot into that training session (in the three years PSC training has been held in Gettysburg I was the first girl they'd ever seen). Or that I'd have to learn tackling techniques in front of an audience of people who have been doing this for years.
But I didn't really get anxious about it until I pulled into the parking lot and my friend texted to ask if I was going to be the only woman.
Huh, yeah, I guess so.
Fortunately my trepidation didn't last long. I walked into the building and was immediately greeted, "Morning, Coach, how's it going? We're excited to see you."
"Great!" Pretty freaking great.
The rest of the day moved along similarly -- people curious, but kind. They were excited to talk to me and open to my being there. At no point did I ever feel like I didn't belong. I can't say I felt like I was "one of the guys" (the fact that they all got a good laugh about my three point stance proves that), but I can say that I felt like I was one of the coaches, with the knowledge and the power to make a difference, and that's really what I came for.
I never anticipated that my football voice would grow so loud. When I got started in football I remember feeling like I had no voice at all, like I was a silent outsider looking. I'm not a former player, I'm not really an experienced athlete. Heck, I'm not even a guy. The only thing I had in common with my son's coaches was my son.
Turns out, that was enough.
Amanda Rodriguez is a humor and lifestyle blogger at DudeMom.com. In addition to having a loose grip on reality, Amanda enjoys traveling to far off lands (or, not so far off lands) with her family and cheering herself hoarse on the sidelines of her sons' games. They will thank her one day, she's certain.
