After thirty years of living in the same spot, I've seen several young people grow-up, marry and become parents. I feel old sometimes when I reflect on the length of time I've known them. Most of the time though, I marvel at the wonderful individuals they've become. Some of these young people have become my friends throughout the years. By default, their children become my pseudo-grandchildren. I'd like to brag on one of my pseudo-grandkids, if I may. 

Pseudo-grandson is growing into quite the young man, he's polite (though his mama worries incessantly that he's not), smart, spiritual, and athletic. No, he's not perfect. He has his moments, as do all thirteen year olds. You know that age, full of awkwardness, at a crossroad of being not quite a child any more but not quite yet a teen. Thirteen means you're in seventh grade. Being a boy and in seventh grade means you get to play football. And, as you know, football in Texas is everything.

Hank and I went to Pseudo Grandson's second real live football game yesterday. I was quite impressed with his prowess. 

P.G. played offense, defense, and special did most of the seventh grade players. On offense, he was the quarterback. A darn good one too; nope, no pride here.

He also got to run the ball, pretty good here, too.

On special teams, he got to kick the ball...not quite so good here but he did get the job done.

I'm actually quite surprised that he likes playing football. P.G. has been playing baseball since he was nine months old. His baseball teams have consistently been in some play-off game or another and won some championship or another every year. But, this is Texas. It's in the DNA to play football. 

Well done P.G., well done.

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