Last week marked the first time this year that I watched Jock play football in his Thursday night 8-a-side team. Last year, they won the championship and I was a proud, if not slightly dorky, girlfriend, taking pictures and standing in the rain.

Last week was a bit like last year. It was cold, I shivered but I stayed. The sun was so blinding that half the players couldn’t see the ball flying in their faces. I ducked numerous times even though what I thought was the ball coming towards me was actually its shadow. The manager stood to the side, smoking his cigarettes and calling out orders to the team.

It must be a bit like a mother feels watching her child play – not that I’m comparing him to my child, because that would just be – in every way – wrong. It’s just that I love watching the man of my life doing what he loves best – and that’s out on the field with his studs (cleats), amongst his friends, tackling the ball, getting scraped up and playing football.

Perhaps its in my genes.

My mother never missed one of my games. Not one, and she was one of the rare ones. Softball in the Spring and Summer, Soccer in the Fall and Basketball in the Winter – not to mention the silly musicals I was in. I was non-stop, and she was always there. Surprisingly, not many other mothers were – something that always baffled her and me.

Perhaps that’s why I take such pride in watching Jock.

I have to admit, a part of me feels slightly embarrassed that I try to go to every game – as if I shouldn’t be so thrilled to watch him, as if I should still play hard to get, as if I need to pretend that I don’t care as much. My embarrassment I find infuriating – surely we should enjoy every moment we have with our loved ones. But, I pick up on a slightly annoyed feeling that what I’m doing isn’t cool.

Where does that come from?

I’m the only girlfriend who sits there, and maybe its that – sitting alone on the field…

But I realize we won’t be living in this country much longer and he won’t be playing with the boys he’s been playing with for the past twelve years….well, maybe, ever again. I do love it.

This year is easier than last year. At least the boys are used to the random girl stalking her boyfriend on the edge of the field, taking pictures and grinning widely. I’m sure no one else looks at me the way I think they might, but I can’t help but wonder…is it those high school days trying to be cool coming back to haunt?

Anyway, I guess I’m just one of those girls who is unable to feign disinterest. I never learned that trick. I’m always too interested.

Do you feel like its best not to show too much interest in your man? If you do, is that a fear that if you show too much interest, they lose interest?

Or do you try to take in every moment?

Just thinking…

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