I hope my son never asks me if he can play tackle football
Last fall, I went with my 12-year-old son to his middle school’s opening home football game. The bleachers were lined with parents, the smell of hot dogs and nachos wafted over the field, the announcer’s voice blared, and the cheerleaders jumped out of sync.
The boys were dressed in shoulder, chest, thigh and kneepads covered with clean white numbered uniforms. They each wore a helmet that seemed to weigh more than …