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“No, ma’am.” They answer together this time, as militarily precise as eight- and nine-year-olds can be.
“Do you want to be a team, Wildcats?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they say, getting better with each response. Backs are straightening, shoulders dropping, and eyes locking on me.
“Good. Because you are a team. Good or bad, you’re in this together. With me.” I raise one eyebrow at Johnathan again, who’s looking considerably less cocky. “Line up and take a knee.”
They hustle to follow the order, and I pace the line back and forth once, meeting each little boy’s eyes. I try to filter through the military movies in my mind, or even a football jock romcom, something to help me out here. Finally, I decide speaking from the heart is my best bet.
“I am a woman. And I don’t know a lot about football. Which, to be clear, is not true of all women. There are female team owners, coaches, reporters, and even players. Just because I’m not doesn’t mean you can disrespect them. Or me.”
I can see the quiver of Johnathan’s lower lip and decide maybe he’s had enough . . . for now. “But I have been part of a team before, and how you behave when things are tough is what makes you or breaks you. So maybe we don’t work on that play anymore. Maybe we don’t do the throwing drill I had planned next.” They groan at the loss of their favorite activity. “I think what we need is some good old-fashioned team building. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, ma’am?” they say uncertainly.
“Circle up, but make it a big one. Get some room between each of you.” They stand and move to make a loose circle around me. “Drop and give me ten push-ups.”
Several of the stronger boys do so instantly until I stop them. “On my count. Together.”
I can hear the groan work its way through them, but they hold a plank with me and I count us off. I don’t make it too slow, nor too fast. They’re just kids, after all, but this is an important lesson.
We move on to high knees, jumping jacks, air squats, lunges, and every single body weight exercise I’ve seen on infomercials late at night when I’m working at home after Cooper’s gone to bed. We’re all sweaty and tired, and my breath is coming in hard pants.
“Last but not least, we’re pulling one from my cheerleading days. Are you ready for this?” Not a single soul makes a peep. They’re too exhausted and probably too nervous to argue at this point.
“Here’s the drill. You turn to your left, double high-fives, drop for a pushup, pop up, and everyone yells ‘WILDCATS!’ Then you double high-five the teammate to your right, tagging them for their turn. Pay attention and don’t miss the team yell,” I warn them. “We have to make it all the way around with everyone cheering together every single time or we start over.”
I point at Johnathan, letting him start. He high-fives Anthony, drops and pops back up, as everyone watches raptly. They yell together, and then Johnathan turns to high five . . . Cooper.
I didn’t set them up that way, but it seems serendipitous, and their high-five seems filled with meaning. Maybe I don’t suck at this, after all. At least the team part. The football part . . . definite suckage.
And talking to Bruce? I’m even worse at that, I think painfully. I still can’t believe he didn’t come, but there’s no sign of him. I haven’t checked my phone in a bit, but there’s really no excuse barring an emergency.
My heart stutters. Maybe something really is wrong? Maybe I’m being a bit self-absorbed to think this has anything to do with our fight the other night. He could’ve had an accident on the way to practice, be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, all while I curse him for no-showing. I nibble at my lip, suddenly nervous.
The boys continue their way around the circle, picking up momentum like they’re racing the clock. My heart speeds up to meet their frantic pace, but where they’re smiling and having fun with what’s become game-like, I’m freaking out a bit.
Anthony is the last kid, and when he high-fives Johnathan, completing the circle, they all cheer wildly. Wildcats seems like a rather appropriate name right now.
“Great finish, guys!” I praise them, having achieved what I’d hoped to with the game. I even saw Johnathan apologize to Cooper while Killian was doing his push-up. It’d been fast, but Cooper had nodded his forgiveness, so I’m taking that as a win.
Hell, I’m taking the whole damn practice as a win . . . for me! I have no idea what I’m doing, but it wasn’t that bad in the end.
“Bring it in.” I hold my hand out and their sweaty ones cover mine. “On three . . .”
