Safety Conscious

It's football season again. I know this because yesterday when I drove by the Krispy Kreme, the billboard advertised little football shaped doughnuts.

Actually, I was aware of football season before then because Lawson has been going to daily football practices for the last week and a half. So you know what that means....

It's almost time for Nancy's football blogging!

So if you've been a fan of my expert Georgia football game analyses, fasten your seat belts, because I've been getting ready. And this year, a nice complement to my Georgia Bulldawg commentary will be my reviews of the games of the St. Peter the Apostle Rams. Lawson is on the SPA varsity team, so not only will avid readers get play by play reports from between the hedges, but they'll also read about the tried and true gold and blue as they play at O'Brien Field (just behind St. Peter the Apostle School).

In Savannah, the independent schools' football season starts with the Football Rama, which takes place at Benedictine Military School and allows middle school football teams to face each other in several ten minute scrimmages. I'm amused by the term football rama (actually, I'm amused by any term ending with the suffix --rama) because it gives the impression of an organized celebration of all things football, when in fact, at least through my eyes, it's more like chaos with helmets. At Football Rama, boys aged from ten to thirteen scramble on the football field, some of them athletically talented, some of them trying to figure which way to run. For teams play on the field at once. And because it's so early in the season, few of them have received their uniforms, so most of them are wearing their white practice jerseys with random numbers, so it's anybody's guess which one is my son. I had to take a photo of him during one of the rest periods so I'd know he was #90. And even then, with all those white jerseys running around, I occasionally found myself cheering for a player to run for the goal line only to discover I was rooting for the opposing team.

The St. Peter junior varsity team had the wherewithal to put on these yellow vesty things, which made it easier to identify them. But look at #10 near the top of the photo. What's up with that?

One good thing about the event was that I also learned Lawson's position:  safety.  

That's a defensive position, and I like the sound of it--nice and secure. Injury free. When the team lines up, he's near the back. That's good, according to Butch Lowenthal, grandfather to Lawson's teammate, Matt Lowenthal (of the Groundhog Day wake boarding fame). According to Mr. Lowenthal, the safety never has anyone behind him, so he always knows who's coming at him. That makes me feel a little bit better about Lawson being on a football field. One should always see the person trying knock him down. 

So in the spirit of learning more about the South's favorite sport, I've decided to be more safety conscious, not only by being more mindful of Lawson's football prowess, but also learning more about what a safety does, exactly. According to every student's first-stop source, Wikipedia, the safety is part of the defensive line, one of three players called defensive backs. The role of the defensive back is to protect the receivers and try to stop pass completions.

When I read that explanation, I breathed a sigh of relief because 1) I like the idea that Lawson's role is a protective one, and 2) I know what a receiver is and what a pass completion is! That's what players do on the offensive line when they try to score a touchdown! So Lawson's job is to stop them.

First, he stands like this:

And he waits until the ball snaps. Then, when the offense's receiver tries to run the ball, he runs after that guy (or in front of him to block), like this;

Except that in this photo, it looks like he's being chased by those big Blessed Sacrament guys (and really, where does BSS get those players? Look at the size of #12. He must be thirty). Fortunately, I never saw Lawson get knocked down. Nor did I see him tackle anyone. Instead, I think he used his critical thinking skills and ran the receiver out of bounds instead. That's my boy. Safety is his middle name (Not really. It's Roukos).

So if my son's going to play football, I like the safety position. I know the name is supposed to invoke protection of the goal, but still I think that other than the special teams, the safety has a pretty low risk of fracture and concussion. And that's more than I can say for Lawson's friends, who have to run the ball and get tackled. Look at this mess below:

I've labeled these players for easy reference. See Mills? See Ian? See Hunter? They're burly, and they're right in the middle of everything. Chances are they can mow down the receiver before he can ever get to Lawson (not only that, but Mills, Ian and Hunter also play offense--we've got a really small team--so they'll also get mowed down repeatedly every game). Now look at Lawson out there to the right. He's the gate keeper. He's the last stop before the goal line. The receiver has to run through all those shoulders before he even gets to Lawson. And that makes me feel a little more secure about the safety.

So sports fans, be on the lookout for more gridiron reports from Savannah. Georgia opens its season next weekend with a contest against Buffalo, and Saint Peter the Apostle should open its season the following Thursday (though we're not entirely sure yet because the schedule hasn't come out). It should be an exciting fall.

 

Boys Growing Up

We got a letter from Davis today, which he wrote almost a week ago, and he says he is mighty home sick. He says he knows he will be able to get through school but that the home sickness is the biggest challenge. That letter made my stomach clench with sympathy, but my brain keeps telling me that he will be fine and soon he will make friends and love his school.

That's all part of growing up.

Davis isn't the only one having to grow up a bit this week. Lawson began eighth grade today. Through the past seven years, Lawson, unlike his brother, has vehemently resisted getting up and ready for the day. Slowly he's improved, but this year Lawson's dad gave him a little surprise:

"This year you're going to ride your bike to school."

After a pause, Lawson replied, "I'd rather not do that."

"Why not?" I asked. I thought he would like the independence.

"Because when we ride our bikes to and from school," he said, "we have to stand around in the parking lot and wait for all the cars to leave before we can go home."

Horrors.

"That's for your safety," I said. "They want the traffic to die down."

"But still," Lawson complained. "We have to stand around for at least thirty minutes."

No sympathy from the mom who has to drive forty-five minutes one way to go to work. "But when Davis was in the eighth grade, he rode his bike to school, and he didn't have to wait around to come home."

"That's because Sister Roberta wasn't the principal then."

"But Sister Roberta isn't the principal now," Stephen said. "We have Mrs. Butler now."

"But she'll probably still make us wait to last to go home." Lawson was determined to offer every excuse available.

"So let me get this straight," I said. "You'd rather Dad and I interrupt our schedules and drive half an hour from town to pick you up just so that you won't have to ride your bike around the corner?"

He paused for almost a whole minute before replying. "I didn't say that. I just said I'd rather not do it."

"Well," Stephen replied. "Guess what?"

 

Milestones

August has arrived and with it an important milestone for Davis and me. It's time for him to go to college.

We kicked off the big day with a celebratory dinner. JoJo usually has family dinner on Wednesday night, so last Wednesday, Go-to-College Eve, she served Davis's favorite meal, calypso chicken and his dessert of choice, fresh peach cobbler. Friends and relatives joined us for the occasion.

Afterward, Megan came home with us, and we got Davis packed up and ready to go. Lawson helped too, but his main role was to examine Davis's room to see how he could make it his own. 

 

They don't let you take much to SUNY Maritime College, so making room in the car wasn't much of a problem. Only two of the above suitcases belonged to Davis. The other two were mine and Stephen's. 

Then at six o'clock, bright and early, Davis, Stephen, and I were on the road, traveling up I-95 toward the Big Apple. For the first ten hours or so, the trip was as pleasant as it could be. In fact, we remarked several times how we didn't feel as though we'd been in the car all day. Traffic in Washington and Baltimore was heavy, but not oppressively so, and even though we slowed down a bit, we felt like we were making good time. 

 

But upon departing Maryland, we discovered we had entered the land of toll booths. At the other end of the Delaware Memorial Bridge, we confronted our first experience:  four dollars to enter the state of Delaware. We thought that was a little pricey. After all, the tolls we'd paid in the past were more along the lines of thirty-five cents. But we soon learned the Delaware bridge was the bargain on our adventure. Want to go to New Jersey? No problem. That'll be six bucks, please. Here's our fabulous turnpike! Need to take it to Manhattan? Of course. It's a bargain at $16.50.  To get to the Bronx, you can either swim across the river or pay twelve bucks to cross the George Washington Bridge (and when three of the four lanes are closed, you don't get a discount, but you do get to enjoy the bridge for an hour, so I suppose that means you get your money's worth).

 Delaware Memorial Bridge

And that's when we realized another big difference between North and South.  When travelers cross into Florida, they get orange juice. But up north, each time we crossed into another state, we got fleeced. Here's the solution to Georgia's budget problem. We just need to set up toll gates at every interstate crossing Georgia's borders. If we charged every driver a dollar to come and go, we could probably abandon the lottery and still build new schools for every county. 

But I digress.

We finally made it to New Rochelle, where we found our very comfortable hotel. Stephen and Davis went to orientation the following day, where they learned about SUNY Maritime's sailing club, fishing club, SCUBA club, and lacrosse team. They gave Davis all the information he needed to begin his first week of classes. They returned that evening with a report that SUNY Maritime is like a big BC and that Davis would fit in just fine.

Davis also seemed ready to go. Maybe he was just ready for me to stop hugging on him. Stephen warned me, though. "When we get there Sunday, we can't go in the dorm and see his room. We just have to drop him off at the curb, and we have to say good bye there. So get prepared."

I did. Saturday we had the day to ourselves, so we went into Manhattan. Stephen had never been there, and Davis hadn't been there in five or six years, so we showed Stephen some Big Apple landmarks like Times Square, Bryant Park, and Grand Central Station.

Then, after lunching at Patsy's Pizzeria (a favorite of mine, Lawson's and Dawn's), we sauntered over to Central Park, where we rented a remote control sailboat at the water conservatory.

It was a nice last day with our boy, and spending the whole day with him made the separation next morning a little easier to endure. Davis arrived at his residence hall at 9:00 Sunday morning. When we pulled up to the curb, an upper classman met us at the car and helped him unload his belongings. They took his baggage to check in so he could store it in his room. I snapped photos of him while he wasn't looking. 

Off he goes to get in line...

He learned at orientation that he would store his baggage in his room for the first week because he would be living on the college's ship, which was docked right next to the building. There he would learn how to drill and learn the routine of the school. The campus is on a point at the southern tip of the Bronx, so it has a beautiful view of the city and lots of room for sailing and fishing in the cadets' spare time (although I don't know how much of that they'll have). 

 

 

 And so we said good bye. And it wasn't that bad.  Davis was ready to go, which made me feel better about leaving him, and although I knew I would miss him (and I do), I wasn't the weepy mess I thought I would be when we departed. And so Stephen and I made our way back across the George Washington Bridge, 

making sure our pockets were stuffed with cash for the toll gates on the way home, and drove down the east coast to Savannah, where Lawson was waiting for us.