"Football was my sport," he said. "I could feel it. Mom was worried I'd break my nose or crush my knee so she never let me play. Finally I wore her down and got on the sophomore team. The whole family showed up for my first game, cheering as I ran onto the field in my green and gray uniform. I was giddy with football fever. Apparently the coach wasn't feeling my vibes, because he left me on the bench all four quarters.
"My sisters didn't even notice, but my brother gave me a hard time. 'Next week,' whispered my mom. Next week was just the same. I sat out the following game, too. After that my siblings stopped coming. Mom missed the day it snowed, and it was getting colder in the afternoons, so I understood why she didn't come again.
"But Dad was in the bleachers every Friday. He acted like he had nothing he'd rather do than shiver through somebody else's son's football games. Although I was embarrassed, he brushed it off, patted my back, and took me for a hamburger on the way home.
"The last game of the season was a bust. They were ahead by 36 with only a minute left in the 4th quarter. Most of the crowd was gone, and even the cheerleaders were packing up their pom poms. Coach Stone wandered down the bench and gave us 4th-stringers a nod. 'Go in and finish this up,' he said. I grabbed my helmet and glanced up at the bleachers as I strapped it on. There was only one person left in the stands and he was cheering like we'd just won the Super Bowl. My dad."
Who sat in the stands and cheered for you?
This idea came from a comment I heard in Sunday School.