I am the...jerk

Okay, you may be wondering about the title. The actual quote used a much stronger word than "jerk" but I thought I should probably not use the stronger word. This title comes from an interesting experience I had over the past week. A week ago Saturday, on the 11th of September, I went to the home game for our local high school football team. I was once employed by this school and in our small town, I know most every kid and their parents. And, of course, I wanted to see my nephew, Austin, play. Can I just mention how proud I am of him! Anyway, there was a man there that I know well. He coaches in our local Little League, in fact, he coached my son on the All-Stars team. I do not really care for this man. I think he is heavy handed in his approach to children and I think he is the picture of being incorrectly prideful. I watched as this man's son got hurt. I know this man's son, he is a very good athlete and a super tough kid. I knew that if this young man was saying he was hurt, he was hurt. His dad (and his mom too, for that matter) did not concur with my assessment. They were berating that poor boy, relentlessly, from the stands. They gave him enough hell that he told the coach he would go back in. He did and he was back to catch a punt when the other team hit their next fourth down situation. He caught that punt and began to run and then he just crumpled to the ground. It was SO obvious that he was really hurt. But no, not according to his folks. The coach took him out for the remainder of the game and his parents jeered at him throughout. When the game ended, this boy made his way, very slowly out of the stadium. In our stadium, this means climbing a large amount of steep stairs and then crossing a long pedestrian bridge over the highway and then down a steep hill to the parking lot. He could barely move. And yet, I sat there, totally fuming, as this father continued to throw crap in his son's face. I have seldom felt so helplessly angry. Fast forward to Monday night, the 20th of September. I am back at that same stadium, watching the JV football game. I see this young man make his way across the bridge, on crutches. His father is standing at the back of the stadium with me and my husband. Karl asks the man about his son. He gets a look on his face. He puts his head down for a moment and gathers himself and then proceeds to tell us in a very funny way how he finallly got it through his thick head, nine days after the hit, that maybe his son was really hurt. So they had taken him in to see an orthepedic doctor, earlier that day. Guess what?! You got it, that boy had a fractured hip. And furthermore, there was a huge amount of muscle damage done after the initial fracture. The doctor asked about this, and the boy admitted to going back into to play, after the initial injury. The doctor roared, "Who is the asshole that told you to go back in?" The father pauses in his story and says, "I roared right back, I am the asshole. But you guys already knew that about me." We all laugh, it is funny, the way he tells it, and yes, we all did know that about him. He plays up the laughs for a time and even impliments his wife in the whole fiasco. But then he leans over and says, "But I am so sorry for what I did. My son is out for the year and maybe more because I AM an asshole. I am so sorry." I still do not agree with him, I will now take even greater care to watch him, should he ever again coach my son. But my heart melted towards him in that moment. I could see a humility in his eyes that I did not think he was capable of and I was glad to see it. I found myself offering a silent prayer for him and for his wife and for their boy, but most especially for me and my judgements. I asked for help to show love to all around me, no matter what.