Home to You

I blow my whistle and the players line up. We’ve got both teams here today, varsity and the junior varsity. Mondays and Wednesdays, they practice together. Tuesdays and Thursdays, they split up and run drills and practice their own offense and defense. Saturday is weight training and team projects, and Sunday is their off day, though you’d find several of my boys in a weight room anyway. I’ve got a good group of kids here, and I’m anxious to see where they take us.

My senior captains work on stretches and warm-ups while the coaches and I discuss Friday night’s game. “Carson had some great passes but was still a little slow out of the gun. I’d like to work on some more speed drills with him, getting him to bring the ball straight up to firing position, not windmilling it around like this,” Coach Lehman says, demonstrating how much time is added to the play when Carson swings his arm around to get into position.

“I agree. I’ve been watching it, but it seems to be more consistent now than before. Let’s work with him tomorrow with the O-line,” I reply, watching as the last row of kids crosses the fifty-yard line.

“What do you want to do about Adam? I hear he’s on the verge of failing English,” Coach Haun, the only other teacher in the group, asks.

I shake my head. “We’re like two full weeks into school. How is he almost failing already?” I ask, my eyes seeking out the young man in question. He’s a big boy, one of my best linebackers, but he doesn’t have much of a home life. His parents rarely come to support his games, and when they do, I’m pretty sure they’re drunk. Adam struggles to get through school and work at a local gas station as an attendant as much as possible.

Coach Haun shakes his head. “Hasn’t turned in two of the four assignments.”

I blow out a big puff of air. “That’ll do it. I’ll talk to him after practice,” I say, heading over to where the boys are grabbing a quick drink of water. I blow my whistle to catch their attention. As soon as they finish their drinks, the team throws on their helmets and meets me at the end zone.

We spend twenty minutes running sprints and a few drills, and the moment I tell them to get a drink, they all rip off their helmets and head for the water before filing back inside the locker room. The TV is there, ready to go for the remainder of practice. Each coach goes through key plays during last Friday’s game while the players look on in concentration.

As soon as we’re done, I slip back into my office, motioning for Adam to see me before he leaves. He arrives a few minutes later, sweaty from the late summer heat, and dressed in his work uniform. “Hey, Coach. You wanted to see me?”

“I did, Adam. Have a seat,” I instruct, coming around to the front of my desk and sitting on the edge. “I hear you’re missing a few assignments in English.”

Adam drops his head and averts his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You’re on the bubble for eligibility, Adam, and I’m sure that’s not what you want.”

“Hell no, Coach!” he replies, his eyes alive with the fire I see on the field on Friday nights.

“I figured as much, but if you don’t get your grade up a little, you risk the chance of not playing this week.”

He sags against the old wooden chair. “Sorry, Coach. I’m trying, but my mom, she was gone a lot this last week, and Dad wasn’t happy. I worked a lot to help cover some of the rent,” he says, his eyes looking so much older than a young seventeen year old’s should.

I crouch down in front of him so we’re eye level. “You’re a good boy, Adam. What you’re doing to help your family is commendable, but you also have an obligation to your studies. You know my rules. In order to play, you have to be passing.”

He swallows hard. “I know. I’ll do better.”

Something flashes in those soulful eyes. “If you need help with your homework, all you have to do is ask.”

Adam gives me a small smile. “Thanks, Coach, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

I nod in reply and stand up, dismissing my player. Just as he reaches the door, I say, “Hey, if you ever need a place to chill for a bit, let me know. Actually, just stop by. You know where I live,” I state. Adam is one of the handful of players who helped me move two years ago when I went through my divorce. “My door is always open.”

Adam gives me a look full of relief, as if someone just threw him the lifeline he was desperately needing. “Thanks, Coach.”