My oldest son is becoming more and more interested in football. He’s always enjoyed throwing the ball around, and has brought up the subject of playing for his school a few times.

His mom, however, is completely against it. Football is simply not an option.

The other night, as I was saying goodnight to him, he asked me, “Dad, if I were to play football, what position do you think I’d be best at.”

“Quarterback,” I said. “You throw a great spiral, have a strong arm and good accuracy. In soccer, you’re able to see the field while you play and know where your teammates are. All those things are perfect for a quarterback.”

He seemed pretty happy with that answer. “Do you think I could play in high school?”

“You know your mom’s opinion. There’s just no way.”

“Okay, okay,” he said. “But what if she wasn’t around?”

I stared at him for a few seconds. “You’re not allowed to kill your mom so you can play football.”

“What?” he sat up. “No! I just want to know what you think!”

“I think your mom doesn’t want you to play football.”

“Da-ad!”

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