Landon’s dad went into his speech. “Landon is deaf. When he was four he got cochlear implants, so he hears sound and he can read lips. But to really understand speech it’s best if he hears and sees what’s said.”
“He reads lips?” The man shot what looked like a nervous glance at Landon.
“He uses a combination of sight and sound to understand,” Landon’s dad said.
“But he can’t wear those things with a football helmet,” the man said.
Landon’s dad nodded. “Yes, he can. There’s actually a company that makes custom helmets. Landon isn’t the first, either, and we have a doctor’s note.”
“Okay, okay. That’s great. Really.” The man with glasses threw his hands up in the air in total surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense at all, and if he has special needs we can work with that, but we just have to know.”
Landon’s father gritted his teeth and shook his head. “No, he isn’t special needs. He just needs to see you speak.” He showed them all the doctor’s clearance.
The men looked at the paper, and then Coach Bell said, “Super. Okay, let’s go. On the scale, Landon. Here we go.”
“So, should I take off my shoes?” It seemed like years since Landon first asked this.
Coach Bell looked down. “Yeah, it’s the rules.”
Landon bent down and took his shoes off. He tugged his T-shirt over his gut before he stepped onto the scale.
“I knew it!” Coach Bell craned his neck to read the digital number. “Yup. Double X. You’ll be great on the line.”
Landon’s father said, “But he can only play certain positions?”
“Yes,” Coach Bell explained. “For safety these really big boys—the Double X’s—can only play right tackle on offense and left end on defense.”
Landon didn’t know whether to feel proud or humiliated. The man with glasses gave him a mouth guard in a plastic bag and instructed him to go out on the football field and look for the coaches with the bright green T-shirts. Landon’s dad put a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the field.
When they got there, Landon’s dad pointed to one end where two fathers wore bright green T-shirts with matching caps and whistles around their necks, just the same as Coach Bell at the weigh-in. There were blocking dummies and small, bright orange cones set out in some kind of order Landon didn’t recognize from his YouTube study of the game. Some of the dummies, big yellow cylinders standing tall, were for blocking and tackling. Others, blue rectangles lying flat in the grass, were used for soft boundary markers. Beyond the end zone was a metal sled with five football-player-shaped pads whose single purpose he knew: blocking.
“Okay.” His father stopped at the sideline and pointed. “There’s your group—your team. Good luck, son.”
Landon looked up at his father, who studied the team from beneath the shade of his hand. When he realized Landon wasn’t moving, he gave him a little push. “Go ahead. You can do this, Landon. Everything new is always a little scary.”