“Come on, Phill!” Bobby McCoy shouted to his son as the teenager ran laps around the high school’s jogging track. “You’re getting slow!”
“Honey,” Miranda called to her husband as she sat with Phill’s younger brother on the family’s picnic blanket. “He’s been at this over an hour; don’t you think he’s earned a break?”
“You don’t get a break on the battlefield, Miranda,” Bobby responded.
“It’s football, Bob,” Miranda summarized as she sipped lemonade, “Not war.”
“Ten more laps!” Bobby shouted. “Then it’s onto tackle training.”
“Bob!” Miranda shouted. “We want to be done before sunset!”
“You just don’t understand, Miranda,” Bobby explained. “Football season….”
“Is over a month away!” Miranda interrupted. “He’ll make the team, Bob.”
“He can’t just make the team!” Bobby argued. “He needs to blow everyone away! College scouts will…”
“Bob!” Miranda was getting annoyed. “Your son’s only a Sophomore; he’s got plenty of time to get a scholarship.”
“Dad,” Phill’s brother Timmy called. “Can I have some food, please? I’m starving.”
“No!” Bobby roared. “No one touches the food until Phill finishes.”
“Don’t yell at Timmy!” Miranda exclaimed. The middle-aged woman took a large chicken drumstick out of its plastic container. “Here, Sweetie.”
“You’re always babying the boys, Miranda,” Bobby remarked, but a look from his wife kept him from pursuing things further. “Fine, those things are too high in grease anyway.”
After a half hour of tackle training and then a round of throwing footballs at a target, Phillip was finally finished with his training. “That’s my boy!” Bobby proudly proclaimed as his son took a seat at the picnic blanket.
“Thanks… Dad….” Phillip stammered as he caught his breath.
“Phillip, Honey,” Miranda remarked as she scrunched her nose. “Are you still wearing that extra-strength deodorant I bought you?”
“I had to throw it away, Mom,” Phill explained as the teenager grabbed some of his mother’s famous ham sandwiches. “Can’t be smelling too good around the locker room.”
“Well,” Miranda responded as she dug into the picnic basket and pulled out a towel. “You certainly don’t have to worry about smelling good. Either towel off or sit downwind of your father.”
“That’s the smell of success and hard work,” Bobby remarked.
“Well,” Miranda countered. “It’s worse than how his toy box smelled when he was potty training.” She chuckled at her memories. “Remember how you used to hide all of your soiled undies?”
“Mom!” Phill blushed. Timmy snickered as he munched on another chicken leg. “You think that’s funny, Tiny?” The teenager demanded. Before the child could respond, Phill took the poultry from Timmy and kept it just out of the kid’s reach. “Come on, Tiny!” Phill remarked. “You gotta work for your food!”
“Phillip McCoy!” Miranda sternly remarked. “You give your bother back his food and apologize.”
“God, Miranda,” Bobby sighed as Phillip returned the chicken to Timmy. “You just don’t get it. That’s how brothers are; they toughen each other up.”
“Well,” Miranda responded. “I don’t want to break up any fights today; we still have the doctor’s office.”
“Right,” Bobby agreed with his wife. “We should wrap this up. Phill, go put your gear in the car and then come back and finish your food.”
“Right, Dad,” Phil agreed. The teenager went to the family’s car and deposited his football equipment. Except, something was different; did the equipment seem heavier today?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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