Starry, starry night

Jack is a true football freshman, buckling up the pads for the first time and figuring out how to run, scramble and tackle in full football regalia. So expectations regarding playing time are low; we are happy with any snap or play in which No. 15 runs out on the field.

So a 42-0 shellacking at the hands of Webster Groves Aug. 31 was not a total lost cause. At approximately 6:38 p.m. Central Time, Jack McCarthy made his St.Louis U.High football debut, running out on the field with his team down 35-0. He was lined up in the secondary, playing cornerback and looking like he knew what he was doing.

He was out there for two plays, got in a few blocks then came out for more kids seeing playing time for the first time. On the very next play, Webster Groves threw a perfectly executed screen pass down the far side where Jack had been playing and ran about 60 yards for a touchdown.

Jack would have tackled him, I whispered, to no one in particular. Of course he would have. Every player who’s NOT out there can make the play on the field, according to the parents in the stands. Every player who is NOT out there should be, right?

How are we supposed to know? We’re not out there at practices. We don’t see what the coaches see. We just see our kids out there, and we need to trust that the coaches will do what is best.

But that’s freshman football. One kid’s butt-kicking is another’s shot to prove himself.

After the game, Jack, back in his street clothes, climbed in the car and had a big smile on his face. Talk turned to homework.

“I have to go on some art website and pick out a painting and write an essay about it,” he said.

Turns out, “some art website” was the Museum of Modern Art in New York. From the football field to a virtual tour of MOMA … what an education he’s getting.

He picked Van Gogh’s “Starry, Starry Night.”

“Can I read it when you’re done?” I asked him.

“Do you have to?” was the reply.

“No, that’s OK,” I said, “not if you want don’t want me to.”

I walked out of his room, deflated yet pretty sure he really didn’t need his mom reading his freshman English homework.

Jack’s going to nail that essay, I whispered, to no one in particular.