It was early morning and my little family of four was driving to Utah from Seattle for a little family vacation. My son was 3 or 4 years old and he just woke up from sleeping and looked out the window, and proclaimed as if he had never seen the bright ball of light in the sky, “Look, it’s the sun!”

My wife and I looked at each other and realized that this kid had never really seen the sun, because he grew up in Seattle, and was born in October. Like Bane, he hadn’t merely adopted the dark like Batman. He was born in it, molded by it. It was like it was the first time he’d actually seen the light. He said a lot of funny things when he was younger, but this one woke us up to the fact that it was the time to move to Utah, where my wife and I met, but also where the sun actually came out from time to time. A few years later, we finally made the leap and moved back.

The son finally met the sun for the first time. It was August, so we had to get him enrolled in school, but he also begged us to let him play football. We signed him up, but the coaches told us that since they were already playing games and he’d never practiced, he could sit on the sidelines and watch and then play next week. But when he showed up, a head taller than everyone else on the team, they quickly found him a uniform, helmet and put him in the game. They lost, but he loved it. In fact, they lost every game that year.

The next year, they won a few games, and took the best team in the league in the playoffs to a 0-0 tie until late in the fourth quarter, when the overdogs finally managed to score, but not without completely, annihilatingly, T-boning their best player out of bounds, and driving the crowd into a frenzy.

We moved and he joined the new local team, and every year, he and his team got better. In his last year of junior football, 8th grade, they won the league championship. I like to say that he went from worst to first, from a winless season in his first year, to a championship in his final year.

Then, four years ago, when he was still in junior high, he moved to the big leagues, high school football. He was still bigger than the other kids his age, but now he was playing with kids four years older than him. We figured that he would play on the junior varsity and then in a few years, he would work his way up to varsity. But, somehow miraculously, he started his first game as a freshman. In his first year, the team made the semi-finals, but lost to their hated rival for the second time that season, in the big college stadium. He got hurt and didn’t play much and was super disappointed, but we told him to keep his head up, because he had 3 more years.

The next two years, went about the same. They would have a lot of success, but every frickin year lost to the bitter rival, twice each season, once in the regular season, and then their season would end in the playoffs against the same team. For whatever reason, this was their Mt. Olympus, the Goliath to their David (before he slung the rocks). They could NOT beat this stupid team.

This year though, they loaded up with talent, he was finally the full time starter, and the cross-town rivals lost a lot of talent, including one of them came back to our team. His team started the season as favorites to win the title. They won their first game, then lost two close games to teams in higher divisions, then ripped off 7 straight wins (one of them the first time ever beating the bitter rival). We knew they were a lock for the #1 seed in the tournament. Unbelievably, and insanely, they ended up being the #4 seed. After our initial shock, we realized what was happening. We got a bye, but not suspiciously at all, the BITTER RIVAL had an easy first round game, in our bracket. For the fourth straight year, we would have to play them in playoffs.

I transferred all my bitter rage and energy into him and told him that he MUST wipe those frickers off the face of the earth. It was tense at first, but after the first half, they were up 26-10, and we were NOT going to let them back in the game. Then, early in the second half, the worst timing ever happened, while boy was on his mission to destroy their quarterback, (a former teammate by the way). He landed on him, awkwardly, but so did another of our guys, a little too late, and pushed his knee in a direction that isn’t allowed. As soon as it happened, his and my nightmare, flashed through my head, as he kept laying there. When he finally did, he couldn’t even walk on his left leg. He had to be lifted by his teammates. Just three games after he recovered from another slight injury, he was down, but this time, it was the one we’d always feared. The ACL, MCL and every other tendon in his left knee. Just as they he was slaying his four year Goliath, he was facing a new and much crueler Goliath, that of the ACL variety. By the time the game ended in victory, he realized that he was never going to play another down of high school football.

The team kept playing without him and our #4 seed advanced to play the #5 seed, but they were no match for the son’s team, even without him. They were now back in the big stadium again for the first time since he was a freshman, against the “#1” seed, which we laughed at being a joke, (they annihilated them) but the son just had surgery the day before to fix his knee, so he could only watch in max pain from the couch. They dispatched the #1 team with ease, only allowing a touchdown, because they were being merciful.

Then, last night, the mighty warrior raised his fragile knee from his bed, attached his larger than life brace, grabbed his crutches, and braced for one last battle. Only his battle wasn’t against the other team, but the battle of finally getting to the championship, and not being able to contribute to it. It was a rematch with the one team that had even played them closely in their division, a 17-14 squeaker.

This time they didn’t win, they attached B2A, beating them 42-7. After losing to hated rival twice every year, every time the hated rival ending their season, they finally conquered the giant, and everyone else. But there he was, standing on the sidelines for all of it.

Afterward, I asked him how it felt to be a champion. It should have been his most triumphant sports moment ever. He should have been over the moon for this moments, but every word out of his mouth was a conflict. He was hyped that they won, but deeply disappointed that he couldn’t play. He was happy for his teammates, but sad for himself.

When I started this blog, it was because I was bitter about my job. I was glad to have a job, but the job drained me to the core. Bitterness comes from moments that should be the happiest of our lives, but there is something that causes them to not be.

I wanted to be so happy for him, because his team won, but I couldn’t because he lost. I drove home last night just as conflicted as him.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs for his personal triumph. But I also wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t play in a game like that. He began his career in football as a loser. Not one win that first year. He was walking around having no clue how to play. Then, his final season as a high school player, his team conquered their last foe, but there he was on the sidelines, hands sore from pushing crutches, leg sore from being rearranged by a surgeon, deeply conflicted, wondering if it was best day ever, or the worst.

It was the ultimate bitter moment, and I’m still trying to decide if I’m completely over the moon happy for him, or completely wrecked and devastated for him because he wasn’t able to play in his ultimate triumphant game.

ARRRRGGGHHHHHHH

Here are Bitter Friday Giftures

Look, dad…

When your son is enthralled with the sun…

We were late for the football season…

Until he showed up…

And they immediately grabbed him a uniform..

In his first year…

But he and his football team…

And by the time he was in 8th grade…

Then his high school mountain…

This year, he finally…

But, of course, that didn’t come without bitter consequences…

The injury bug…

His senior year…

Creating the ultimate bitter moment…

Or devastated that he wasn’t able to play…

ARRGGGHHHHH

Bitterly Frustrated Son Chips Ben