Just for RGV Moms

By Allyson Reynolds Dixon

Michael was nearly 2 years old when the Packers beat the Patriots 35-21 in Super Bowl XXXI.

Our TV wasn’t much older.  And there were quite a few people in the living room that day, eating, drinking and cheering for both teams because they couldn’t pull for the Cowboys.

If memory serves, it was in the third quarter, about the time the Patriots pulled within 27-21 that Michael went missing. Not that we noticed, really. You know how it is when you have a bunch of people at your house. You’re trying to host, you’re wrapped up in the game – and you have a precocious toddler who probably requires more attention than he’s getting that day.

And it was then, just as the game and the tension  in the living room were reaching fever pitch, and the level of sobriety was taking a nosedive, that the TV fell forward and onto the floor.

Behind it stood Michael, who looked shocked at his own strength for a moment and then began to jump up and down, clapping and laughing that little child laugh that makes your throat tighten up because you know that one day,  it will be a more grown-up laugh.

He was fine, thank God, and couldn’t have been more pleased with himself. The game never stopped playing – not even on its face on the living room floor.

Michael went on to become a huge Packers fan. In fact, he has what I swear is a bigger-than-life-sized Brett Favre thing stuck on his bedroom wall.

But as much as he loved Favre, Michael knew when it was time to let the quarterback go. Even he believed Favre hung on a little too long, came back a few too many times and needed to take a step back from what he loved so much – and the game that loved him.

Michael still remembers Favre’s greatest and smallest moments and can tell you in great detail about them. He’s proud of the fact that Favre still goes out and throws the football with the kids at the local high school, and he’ll watch proudly when Favre is inducted in to the NFL Hall of Fame.

But at a certain point, he realized the quarterback had grown old enough that both he and Favre needed to let go.

Having a teenager is the same in a lot of ways, and I keep thinking about that this week as we approach Super Bowl Sunday.

There will be no Michael on Sunday. His dad won’t be here, and neither will any of those people with whom we shared our home that day in 1997. There will be no little boy laugh, and frankly, if he pushed this TV onto the floor, I’d probably smack him. Twice.

Nope. He’s growing up, and it’s time to let him go.

As parents – as moms – we have to know when it’s time for them to walk away. You enjoy the people they’ve become, but you also never forget the little folks they once were. Their little laughs, their claps , even their banging their head on the floor when they didn’t get their way. And you can tell people about those moment in great detail. Because even though they  didn’t seem hugely significant at the time, one day, they will.

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