This week, my youngest son played his last football game as a youth. Next year he will enter high school. That thought alone blows my mind. My baby will be a high schooler? How in the world did I get this so old so fast?

Last season, his team made an incredible come back to take the state championship for their age division. Though the boys played far better this year during the season, we were not going to be granted that same miracle this year. As you all know, I hate losing, but losing here, early in the playoffs, was worse, because it might very well be the last time my son plays together with the bulk of those boys.

My son is actually a year older than most of his teammates. Because he can make weight in the lower division, and we really love the coaching staff, he has dropped down to be with this team for the last three years.

I take comfort in the fact that there were a few others who also dropped down. So next year during Freshman football training camp it won’t be a total sea of unfamiliar faces, but how I will miss the boys we had to leave behind.

In our family we play a lot of different individual sports, but football is the only team sport we play. For all the frustration that can come from having to depend on others to accomplish wins in a team sport, it also creates deep bonds that seldom happen in individual sports. All that shared blood, sweat, and tears welds together one heck of a family. A family that I hope does even better next year, even though I won’t be there to witness it.