“What do I need to do?” I asked.
Coach Engels arched his eyebrows in surprise. He knew I wasn’t a jock and had asked out of courtesy to my uncle. When I didn’t hesitate, it shocked him. He quickly gathered his wits.
“You’ve missed the first two weeks of practice, so you’ll have to start at the bottom and earn a spot on the team.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need you to get your parents to sign a permission slip. I expect to see you at practice after school on Tuesday.”
“Yes, sir.”
I guess I would go out for football.
I TRUDGED INTO THE kitchen after a long bus ride. I thought it would have been faster to walk. For some reason I was the last stop. The good news was if I rode the bus in the morning, I’d have a short trip. I went up to my room to unload my backpack. There was no homework yet, but I wanted to get a handle on things. I’d never been strong in the sciences, so I pulled out my Biology book and did the reading suggested in the syllabus.
Normally I was a solid A/B student, without ever cracking a book, but this year I was determined to do better. My parents weren’t well off, so if I planned to get into a good school, I would need some financial support. An academic scholarship would go a long way to make that dream happen.
Over the summer, Uncle John worked with me to figure out how I wanted my life to go. One of my goals was financial stability. I didn’t necessarily need to be rich, but I wanted to be able to have a comfortable life. Once I had the destination figured out, the path to achieving the goal became clear. A good education suddenly became a priority if I wanted to have financial stability.
Other goals weren’t as obvious, like being physically fit. Uncle John made the point that this should be part of my plan when he pulled out his high school yearbook. The previous fall they’d had their reunion. He showed me photos from that event and we compared them to the yearbook photos. He let me draw my own conclusions. It was apparent physical fitness was a worthy goal. I was sure this was why he had talked to Coach Engels about me playing football.
The next thing we talked about was a solid moral foundation, one I could use as a sounding board for decisions I would make. This went beyond a religious aspect, though that was an important part of my life. This had to do more with becoming a man of integrity, a man of my word, a man people could trust.
I remembered the example he gave me.
“Do you think you’re a man of your word?”
“Of course I am,” I answered.
He arched his eyebrows.
“So, if you say you’ll do something, you’ll do it?”
I stopped to think for a moment. There had to be a catch in there for him to be looking like that. Then I thought I caught it.
“Yes, with the exception of it causing harm to me or to someone else.”
“Interesting, you’re using your brain today. So if we take the exception of harm out of the equation, you’d say you’re a man of your word?”
“Yes.”
“Would you agree being a man of your word is important in how others will perceive and interact with you?”
I looked at him in confusion. There had to be another trap in there. I couldn’t find it this time. If someone told me they would do something and then did it, it would be better than not.
“Yes, I would agree.”
“Good. Let me give you two examples of your recent behavior, and you tell me if you still think you’re a man of your word.”
Oh, crap. Here we go.
“Yesterday you told me that you’d dig postholes to finish the dirt road section. But when offered to go out for lunch, you accepted instead.”
“Hang on, something better came up. No one would expect me to dig holes over getting off the farm for even an hour,” I reasoned.
He waited me out. He was good at that, and sometimes it drove me to distraction. Then it hit me: the men who placed the posts and strung the fence had to dig most of those holes, and my uncle paid for the extra labor. My lunch had cost him an extra $200. I hung my head, and he saw I realized what I’d done. I said I would do the work. I didn’t tell him I wasn’t done, which caused a problem later.
“David, two things I want to point out. The first is there are times that being a man of your word sucks. Remember three weeks ago when I told you we’d go shopping for work clothes?”
“That was the night we went to dinner with that girl you’re sweet on.”
“Well, a better opportunity came up. I could’ve dumped you and gone out with Ann, but I made you a promise. I came to you and asked you if, in addition to getting you some clothes, you wanted to join us. How many guys do you know would’ve just gone on the date?”
“Almost everyone. I see your point. You kept your word, but when something better came up you worked it out so everyone was happy. So let me ask you: if I said no, would you have gone on the date?”
“No.”
“Wow.”
“Let me give you some other examples. You like to gossip.”
I gave him a look.
“Don’t bullshit me, you tell me stuff all the time. If someone tells you something in confidence, is it yours to retell?” he asked.
“No, I guess not.”
“But you still do it all the time. Do you really want to be the guy no one can share with because sharing with you means they’ll be sharing with everyone else?”
“No, of course not.”
“This becomes even more important when you start to date. The time you spend with a woman is not meant to be shared with anyone but that woman. Your partner may choose to share, but I would suggest you not be the one doing the sharing.
“Two things I want you to take away from this. First is before you say you’ll do something, think it through. The second is to learn how to say ‘no,’” Uncle John said.
The final thing I put on my list was a healthy sex life. Since I currently didn’t have one, this was the area I would have to work on the hardest. Uncle John agreed this was important but was unwilling to help me out with it. Go figure.
By the time I’d finished my Biology reading and doing the practice problems, I heard someone downstairs. I bounced down the stairs to find Dad in the kitchen.
“Need any help?” I asked, which startled him.
“Oh, I didn’t know anyone was home. What do you want for dinner?”
“Anything, you’ve no idea how bad a cook Uncle John is. I swear his country-fried steak was made with newspaper,” I said.
“Why don’t you pull out the frozen bread sticks and we do pasta?”
“Sounds great. Have you talked to Uncle John?” I asked.
“We talked for a little bit on Sunday. Why, what’s up?” Dad asked.
“He called Coach Engels and told him I was going out for football,” I said, and wondered if Dad knew about this development.
“First I’ve heard of it. What do you think your mom will think?” Dad asked, as we both knew this could be a sticky topic.
“If it gets me out of the house and out of trouble, I’m sure she’ll be okay.”
“What time did Greg say he’d be home?” Dad asked.
“He didn’t. Want me to text him?”
I grabbed my phone and found him in my contacts.
“Tell him dinner will be ready in 30 minutes,” Dad told me.
I sent Greg a text.
‘Get off the Hot GIRL–food in 30’
‘FU–see you then,’ Greg sent back.
I went to set the table as Dad signed the football permission slip. Mom was out showing houses and would be late. Twenty minutes later Greg came in. We each shared our day over dinner. I talked about my football news. Greg talked about the pre-college courses he was taking and Dad about work. It was nice to be home and spending family time together. I missed everyone, and I think they were both shocked when I hugged them before heading upstairs. After I caught up with my studies, I played some video games and then hit the sack.