But?
“But whether you need to have people scrambling their brains in the process is doubtful,” he says.
Monet’s mother is showing me pictures. Photo albums. Framed shots. A family’s football life. Mel Jr. in his UCLA uniform, featured in an advertisement on the side of a Los Angeles city bus. Mae and Mel Sr. with singer Smokey Robinson. Mike and Mel Jr. with their beaming father, all three wearing Lions uniforms. A collage of Mel Jr. and Mike’s undefeated youth squad. Mike’s 12-year-old son, Mikey, in his youth league uniform. Mae on a football field, holding a camera.
“I didn’t want my boys to play football at first,” Mae says. “But look at me. I would run up the sidelines when they would score a touchdown.”
“It’s almost like a bipolar love of the sport,” Monet says.
“It gets your adrenaline going,” Mae says.
“Then you go home and think about it,” Monet says. “My gosh, it’s a rough sport. I think about my family. When it hits home it’s completely different.”
“I used to sit in the [team] medical room with my mother-in-law when Mel [Sr.] would play,” Mae says. “I never understood why she was so concerned. Not until my boys started to play did I understand what that was like for her.”
“But even though I have that feeling, I’m still right down there on the field,” Monet says. “If it’s fourth-and-goal at my nephew’s games, I can’t watch.”
“My mother watches football and she is 95,” Mae says. “I’m missing Mikey’s scrimmage right now. Football gave our lives such dimension.”
Remember that Marist College survey? The one in which a third of Americans said concussion concerns would make them less likely to allow their children to play football? Seventy percent of the respondents thought the benefits of the sport outweighed the risks. The choice is hard. Football is a new car and a full tank of gas. Brain damage is climate change.
It’s a Saturday morning. Monet is making breakfast. Mike couldn’t join us. He’s coaching his son’s scrimmage. I ask Monet’s 14-year-old daughter, Paige, if football is a big deal at her high school. She nods. Her eyes go wide.
“When they have games, you can’t find a place to park,” Monet says.
“People who live across the street from school charge to park,” Paige says.
Young Parker Bartell isn’t playing football this year, though even if his parents let him, he doesn’t really want to. “There are thousands of people there,” Monet says. “Everything at the school is scheduled around football season. My daughter is in a play. The dates of the play coincide with the playoffs. If the team makes the playoffs, they’ve already planned on moving the play.”
Parker wants to show us something. His football trophy. It’s nearly as tall as he is. He received it at the end of his first season, and it was pretty much his favorite thing about the sport. Well, that and the team banquet. Turns out Tank didn’t really like football—he would knock opposing boys down, sure, but only so he could more quickly get back to the sideline and continue playing his Nintendo DS.
“Whenever I talk to him about football, he is not interested,” Melvin says. “Like, period. He won’t even watch it with me for more than three minutes.”
Parker is now seven. He’s playing chess. Taking karate lessons. Asking about soccer and basketball. He’s a whip-smart student but also a handful, the kind of boy who finishes an assignment and then celebrates by doing cartwheels in the middle of the classroom. He says he wants to be an engineer when he grows up—that is, after he learns how to cook at Le Cordon Bleu.
“He’s into being a Ninja Turtle,” Monet says.
Parker isn’t playing football. Not this season. But if he asks to play again in the future, Monet and Melvin have made their choice. They’ll definitely say no. Unless they say yes.
“Deep down, there’s a side of me that would love him to go to the NFL and keep up the tradition,” Monet says. “Do I want him on a football field? Absolutely. Do I know the repercussions? Absolutely. Do I think he should play? As a mom, absolutely not.”
The phone rings. It’s Mel Sr. We talk about football. About the choice. He thinks children should be allowed to participate. Thinks the sport builds character. Provides opportunity. He tells me a story: Back in Beaumont, his mother didn’t want him and his brother, Miller, to play. But Mom also worked. So the boys joined their school team in secret. Didn’t tell their parents. They got away with it for about two weeks, until Miller came home with a busted lip.