I am basically crying over here.

And it’s not because the Packers won last night.

I mean, sure, there *were* some tears because of that, but no, that’s not why I’m crying today.

Today, I walked my son to school—he in his Clay Matthews jersey and me in my championship t-shirt. We held hands. And discussed football.

Last night, I sat beside my son while we watched our Packers play the Bears. Sure, we have watched a lot of football together in the past. But, something has changed this season. Josh used to sit beside me on the couch while I watched the game. He didn’t cringe when I cringed. He didn’t yell when I yelled. He didn’t clap his hands when I clapped mine. He didn’t talk to the television when I talked to it. And he certainly didn’t swear when I swore. He just…sat there, almost as if he was waiting for something more exciting to happen, or waiting for it to be over so he could watch Phineas and Ferb.

In his new school, with his new friends, Josh is playing touch football every day at recess. Twice. He’s learning the rules. He’s testing out different positions. He’s discussing plays and strategy. He’s getting better every day.

He likes it. Nay. He loves it.

He wants to learn more. He was a sponge last night sitting beside me, asking at least eleven thousand questions.

AND THEN!

He cringed when I cringed.

He yelled when I yelled.

He clapped his hands when I clapped mine.

He talked to the television when I talked to it.

He didn’t swear, though.

He is only nine.

Dammit.