From the Relief Society Magazine, March 1968 –

More Than a Game

By Sarah Brown Neilson

Jane smoothed the wrinkles from her last piece of the week’s ironing — a white shirt for Tony. As she slipped the hanger into its broad shoulders and carefully buttoned the collar into place, she visualized his leaving for school in its crisp freshness. It was ridiculous, she thought, that he wanted to wear starched, white shirts for everyday. Her brothers had always been satisfied with plaid shirts and jeans that could be worn more than once.

But boys these days were different. You just didn’t know what to expect next. One morning they spent endless time before school shining their shoes, smoothing every hair into place, splashing with after-shave lotion, and dressing in their best. The next morning you were almost ashamed to let them go in their choice of faded jeans, worn sweat shirts, and grubby tennis shoes. Tony’s self-confidence always had a way of convincing her it was all right, though. He had such assurance and maturity for his age — and yet a trace of the childish qualities kept coming to the surface in its struggle against complete manhood.

Jane thought of his strong, husky build that made her seem small and frail in his presence; and his warm, winning smile that revealed the perfect results of eleven hundred dollars spent on orthodontic work. A smile that always assured her the money had been well spent, and that seemed to open doors wherever he went.

It was thinking of his smile that made the lump start swelling in Jane’s throat again. She had swallowed it back so many times that day. After all, Tony was only sixteen and one had to make allowances for him. The world of teen-agers was something different and apart from the rest of the world. Who had said only last week that you couldn’t rear teen-agers and have any emotions? Somehow she had to eliminate hers and justify his attitude about the football game. It was important to see things from his viewpoint and understand how he felt.

^5 he managed to blink back the near-surface tears and glance at the clock. Three-thirty! School was over and the game would be starting! A game that had been such a highlight to all of them — until yesterday. It seemed unreal that an event projected to such importance could shrivel to a mere fragment so quickly. How had it happened? Once again Jane’s mind churned the events that had created the situation.

It began with Frank’s early arrival from work last Friday afternoon. She was expecting him, but managed to act surprised.

“Frank! What in the world are you doing home this time of day?”

Speaking slowly to hide his excitement, he explained, “Well, there wasn’t much doing at the office this afternoon and I thought you might like to drop by the high school to see how Tony’s football game is coming.”

Jane smiled at his nonchalance, knowing his crowded schedule at work and the effort involved in getting away. He would never outgrow his love of sports nor his eager anticipation of the competition involved. He relived his own athletic days in every game Tony played. And justly so, when one considered how much of himself had been poured into that boy.

Their back yard had been a working ground for baseball and football as long as she could remember. Frank’s yearning for a smooth green lawn, sturdy shrubs, and healthy flowers had been replaced years ago by a boy’s sturdy limbs and healthy attitudes. It had become a neighborhood gathering place for lonely, frustrated boys, whose own perfected yards were restricted from use. The worn spots in the lawn, the sparse shrubs thinned by swift balls, and the trampled flowers seemed a tribute to Frank’s love and patience. His knowledge of sports made him a qualified instructor and ready extra for any game.

He should have been a coach, Jane thought one day as she passed an open window and heard his convincing words on the values of honesty and fair play. How blessed she was to have him!

“I’d love to see Tony’s game,” Jane had called as she rushed to get ready, knowing his disappointment if they missed one minute. Of course, they would get Johnny from school on the way.

Living the game with Tony had been thrilling. They were so proud of his important position on the team and the way he came through in the last quarter. His courage and determination were magnificent as he struggled free of arms, legs, and tackles to make a mad dash for the goal line. The touchdown gave their school a one point advantage which meant playing in the league championship game.

Jane realized now — too late — they had been carried away by the excitement of it all. Frank yelled too many instructions, she cheered too enthusiastically, and ten-year-old Johnny created an embarrassing situation. Why didn’t she stop him from dashing out on the field to hug his brother when the gun sounded? She had been afraid they were wrong when she saw Tony trying to move quickly off the field to avoid him. But no such luck! Johnny was fast and persistent, like his brother. (Frank had taught them well!) He was shouting congratulations and patting Tony on the back long before he could rescue himself.

Tony’s response to their generous praise at dinner that night seemed a little cool. He didn’t show the usual interest as Frank verbally relived each play and dramatized his touchdown. During the week he was unusually quiet, and his lack of enthusiasm about the coming championship game worried her. It was odd Frank didn’t notice. His own excitement and anticipation must have clouded his awareness. If only Tony would talk to her. They had always been able to communicate — especially where problems were concerned. She thought of approaching him, but realized the first move must be his. Yesterday it had finally come.

Jane was peeling potatoes for dinner when Tony came home from football practice — that made it easier because he didn’t have to face her. What he wanted to say was difficult. She could tell because he kept making small talk and fidgeting. The telephone rang and he seemed to welcome the reprieve. When he had taken the message for Frank and hung up the receiver, he cleared his throat, took courage, and came right to the point.

“Mom, would you and Dad care if I asked you not to come to the game tomorrow?” His voice sounded hollow and strained.

Not go to the game! Could she have heard him right? This, the most important game of the whole season! Jane groped for an answer, but found a question was the best she could do.

“Don’t you want us to be there, Tony?”

I he kitchen chair squeaked as he shifted awkwardly trying to come up with an answer. “Well, it’s just that — oh — not many parents come — and I kind of feel like the fair-haired boy. Mom, do you know what I mean — all the yelling — Johnny hugging me — and all the fuss?”

Jane could see Frank’s eager face as he had talked about the game at breakfast. How could she tell him? Tony had always used her as a reporter of bad news and difficult situations. “You can say it better and soften the blow for Dad,” he would explain. But this was too much! And Johnny, who visualized his brother as an inspired hero, how could he understand?

The potatoes were going down fast as her peeling speed had increased. Her face was flushed, and her throat felt dry as she struggled for composure.

“Yes, Tony, I do know what you mean, and we’ll spare you the embarrassment. Now, go and rest before dinner. You’ll need all the energy you can get for the game tomorrow.”

Tony looked relieved as he moved toward his bedroom. “Thanks, Mom, you’re great!”

Jane couldn’t let him know how she felt — how Frank would feel. After all, their pride was at stake. This was no time for emotion and they must look at things sensibly. Tony’s friends were important, as was his standing in the group. Interested parents threatened his security; that was clear. It wasn’t Tony’s fault — he was the victim of the day and age. She hoped Frank would see this, and realize it was only a game. Why should it take on such importance?

But in her heart, Jane knew it was more than a game. It was all the games that would follow — all the activities that would be part of his life. It was a test of his moral courage, of his ability to apply their teachings, of his regard for their giving, loving, and sharing. Tony had always been so special. He must never know how he had let them down. Like the psychologists taught, something of this sort could damage his self-respect.

Jane welcomed Frank home from work with an air of forced gaiety. Some real softening was going to be required for this blow. And she must tell him immediately before the last minute instructions to Tony about the game started. She had sorted through her “softening approaches” and decided the jovial method was best.

“You’ll never believe how funny Tony was today,” she said, when Frank was comfortable in his relaxing chair. “He wanted to tell us not to come to his game tomorrow, because all the attention embarrasses him, and he had such a hard time wording it right — you know, so he wouldn’t hurt our feelings.”

The silence was awful. Why didn’t Frank say something? Maybe he didn’t trust his voice. Jane tried a little harder.

“I assured him our being there wasn’t that important and that he can tell us all the details when he gets home. It was a riot to see how relieved he was.”

The first shock was over and Frank joined in the pretense. “That is hilarious! Course, we could go to the game with a paper sack over our heads and tiny holes for the eyes, so no one would recognize us! There’s so much to do at the office, I doubt I could arrange to go, anyway. Is dinner almost ready? I’m starved.”

For being starved, Frank took rather meager helpings. He was too cheerful and avoided talking about the game. Tony was his old self and even played a question game with Johnny before going to bed.

Jane found sleep difficult and lay staring into the dark long after the house was quiet. She could tell by Frank’s breathing that he, too, was awake. How her heart ached for his unspoken disappointment that could never be discussed. She reached for his hand, hoping he would sense the love and understanding she couldn’t express.

Everyone did the usual things next morning. Frank’s face showed weariness and his shoulders drooped a little, but he patiently called the boys three times, took his exercises, and gave Tony first chance at the shower. Tony shined his shoes, brushed his hair and splashed on lotion — apparently it was a white shirt day. Johnny came out with dragging shoe laces and sleep-swollen eyes just in time for family prayer.

As Frank asked the Lord’s blessings upon them, he expressed gratitude for their wonderful sons and made a special plea for Tony’s safety and success in the championship game. Jane was glad the bacon needed turning as he finished, so the moisture around her eyes would go unnoticed. Like many other mornings, Tony was too late to walk and Frank rushed through his breakfast to be chauffeur.

“Mom, what time are you picking me up for the game?” Johnny asked, as she dug in her purse for lunch money.

“We won’t be going today, Johnny, Dad has too much work at the office. Please try to understand.”

“Not go to the game! Mom, you’re kidding! Tony can’t play if Dad isn’t there — he’s always there. We have to go to the game! It’s an important one. Tony’ll never forgive us!”

Jane bit her lip until it hurt. “Johnny, you’re almost late, now please hurry. Just forget about the game for today.”

A dark look of confusion clouded Johnny’s face. “But, Mom, we have to go — I’ll be looking for you because I know Dad will come — he always comes — he wouldn’t do that to Tony!”

Jane hugged him almost too tight as he went out the door. His faith in Frank was heartwarming and she loved him for it. If only she could explain — but no — not to a ten-year-old.

The huge basket of ironing looked almost inviting as Jane appraised her day’s work. There was something about ironing that gave her a settled feeling. It was never a question of what came next. She knew what came next for a solid chunk of hours. She could sit in one place, enjoy a feeling of accomplishment, and do some thinking. But thinking today had only brought confusion and more heartache. As the mound of unironed clothes grew small and the pile of finished ones grew large, the battle to justify Tony’s behavior within herself continued.

A slamming door shattered her thoughts and announced Johnny’s arrival from school. He was breathless and beads of perspiration marked his forehead.

“Mom, you didn’t come and the game has already started! I ran all the way from the bus stop! Can’t we go without Dad — please? Tony will be looking for us. We have to go!”

Jane looked into his anxious, freckled face and tried to sound convincing. “It’s too late, dear, and Tony will have fun telling us all about the game at dinner. He’s never had a chance to do that because we’ve always been there. We won’t even know who won and he can surprise us! Why don’t you get washed and we’ll make Tony’s favorite cake for dinner. You can make the frosting!”

It was a poor substitute for the game, but with Johnny’s interest in running the electric mixer, Jane’s loving persuasion won. Even with all the family favorites, Jane knew dinner would be difficult. Tony would try to tell them about the game, but without Frank’s comments on every detail it would fall flat. Johnny’s innocent remarks would create embarrassment, and she could already feel the strain of trying to pretend everything was fine.

Frank arrived before Tony, sniffing the air and exclaiming about the joy of coming home to smells of cinnamon and brown sugar. “What a lucky boy you are to have a mother who makes such a wonderful home for us, Johnny. Look at the fresh ironed shirts and stack of clean clothes. Do you think she knows we love and appreciate her?”

After twenty years of sharing sorrows and problems with Frank, Jane knew this was his way of trying to help her over the disappointment in Tony. How like him to care what she thought and felt.

The game wasn’t mentioned until they were sitting down to dinner and Tony opened the door. His flushed face and dark hair, still damp from the shower, made him painfully handsome.

“Who won! Who won! Did you make a touchdown? Did you win?” Johnny shouted as he grabbed Tony around the waist.

There was a long silence, and then Tony led Johnny to the table and sat down beside him. In a very quiet voice, he said, “Yes, Johnny, we won. The score was eighteen to twelve, but I lost! Oh, I made a touchdown all right — but I still lost. I realized what I had lost when the game started, and I didn’t hear Dad’s voice in the crowd — when I looked up and didn’t see Mom’s hand waving or you standing on the bench. Somehow, nothing else mattered but your being there — not the game, my friends, or winning. Oh, I kept playing and doing my best — Dad has taught me to do that automatically — but I realized I had sold you down the river for twisted pride and stupid values. Suddenly, I felt sorry for all the guys whose parents don’t care about the games — who are too busy to come. All I wanted to do was come home and be with you.”

Johnny looked confused. “I told you Tony would be mad if we didn’t go, Mom. You should have come home, Dad!”

Tony smiled. How like them to protect his standing with Johnny. “Mom — Dad — I’m sorry — can you ever forgive me? Please don’t miss another game!”

Jane looked into the faces that surrounded the table. Yes, it was more than a game, It was the light of realization, the warmth of understanding, and the cementing of family ties. Now, at last, the tears were spilling unchecked down her face — tears of joy! Through the mist she looked across the table and wondered if there could ever be anything more beautiful than the sight of a father hugging his teen-age son.