My dad would announce this in the family room and my brothers and me would get up and get on the line of scrimmage. My dad would hold one of the furniture pillows to his chest and call a play.
*SLAM* My dad put the ball (pillow) in my hand. I would charge forward with my shoulder ahead. Moving. Pushing. Trying to get past my two brothers......not gonna happen! I am tackled.
Then we heard a shriek from the kitchen.
“Are you guys playing second down? You know how I don’t like it when you play that game. You guys are going to break something and get in biiiiiig trouble!”
“Who wants to play soccer??”
How can a balloon be destructive? Trust me. It can! Steve kicks the balloon to Matt. Matt runs around the family room coffee table. And there is Mark is yelling for the balloon.
The commotion. The close-calls. The noise. The possibility of something breaking. I am on the edge.
“Ok! Enough playing soccer in the house. You guys are going to break something and get in major trouble!”
Those words. Those exact words! Words my mother would say. Words that halt everything.
Steve replies, “Alright, we have to listen to mom. Let’s stop.”
The boo-hoos and complaining flow like a river. Like I am The Destroyer of Everything Good and Fun.
Know what I mean???