For the Mamas of Sons

As the wife of a college football coach, every year I have a front-row seat to watch eighteen-year-old boys take some of their first steps of independence. Each August I stand before our new families and explain what the football season will look like from behind the scenes. I assure the mothers that their sons will not be only numbers; they will be loved. I also tell them I have a vested interest in loving on their sons—my own, younger boys have lived on the football field their whole lives, and they watch each new team closely.

As the season goes on and I see those mothers in the stands, they always ask a version of the same question: “Is my son making the choices I’ve taught him to make?” It is continually my joy to tell them yes. I understand their concern; I look at my sons, who never put on deodorant or brush their teeth unprompted, and I, too, wonder if they’ll survive adulthood. But when fear creeps in, I look at our team. Sixteen years of football teams have entered my home for meals, chatted with me during away trips and at practice, and have loved on my own sons for the past ten years. Football players were our boys’ first babysitters, and continue to be their favorite ones by far.

Mamas, you are doing an amazing job raising your sons, and I can’t thank you enough. You are raising men who aren’t afraid to show emotion. You are raising sons who know to hold a door open for a woman. Teenage guys may get a bad rap in the press, but I’m here to tell you, when you are back in your home states, you are still on our campus through your sons. Your influence is long-lasting, and because of that, you are helping me to raise some pretty amazing sons too.

Mamas, my dinners are never as tasty as yours. I’ll hear from a brave soul every once in a while, “When my mom makes this she does it like…” I learned many years ago that “home cooking” usually tastes best out of a Crock-Pot, something the college dining commons never does. I also learned to serve food on paper plates or I have chaos in the kitchen with all my “helpers” trying to do the dishes for me.

And when an injury occurs, your sons will often say, “Don’t call my mom. I don’t want her to be upset.” The depth of this statement always makes me smile. Mamas, they have grown up under your care and have learned to protect along the way. This instinct will translate to their future marriages as well.

Your continued presence in the lives of these young men is an assumption they make. When we talk about the future and the fears that surround our players, the list always includes a version of someone saying, “I just don’t want to disappoint my mom.” This is met with murmurs of agreement from all who have heard. Their desire to please translates into whom they seriously date, what majors they choose, and sometimes even where they live after graduation.

Right now you, like me, might be staring at a pile of laundry and trying to figure out how to scrape yet another mound of indefinable goop off the kitchen table. The smell that comes from a boy’s room can rarely be considered enjoyable, and you might be wondering if your son will ever have the chance to attend college, let alone succeed. These fears surround me some days; I blame it on the exhaustion of trying to keep up with my active boys. Please hear me, mamas. Your words, your actions, your hugs, your responses . . . they are noticed, remembered, and make a difference. It is there and it impacts for good. Keep going, mamas. Keep up the amazing job. You are influencing a generation and my sons need you. I need you. And thank you!

Beth Walker is a football coach’s wife and mom of two energetic boys. As a writer, Beth has been striving to find her own voice through pursuing Jesus, personal life reflection, and her ministry encouraging college women to grow in their relationships with God. She blogs at lessonsfromthesidelines.com.

Photograph © Beth Walker, used with permission