Meet the Howlters

The Game

YEAR: 2030

[Dan's POV]

"Dan let's go! They're gonna be late!" Phil yelled from the living room.
"I can't find my straighteners!"
"That's because I hid them! Now let's go!"
"I should hide your contacts one of these days," I mumbled.
"Go ahead! Winnie would love it!"
"Stop calling me Winnie!" Winston pouted.
"Never!" Phil and I simultaneously said.
"Well come on then, the game starts in 20 minutes," Phil said as he rushed everyone to the car.

I drove us to the football field as fast as I could so the kids wouldn't be late. When we got there, we got our normal judgmental looks; Phil just shrugged it off, I on the other hand was still phased by it. We did what we normally do when we arrived; unpacked a few lawn chairs that were way too small for us, a few bottles of water, a bag of oranges for the kids, and a box of pizza for Phil and I.

Thankfully the kids were on the same football team so we wouldn't be forced to pick a favourite. They were both really good at football, a lot better than Phil and I ever were. As we sat there, being the most embarrassing parents ever, we were totally confused; Phil and I don't sport. Even though both of them were fairly good at playing, Winston was slightly better than Delilah. Winston was actually the best on the team, so all of their opponents were constantly after him.

"Go Winnie!" Phil would yell whenever he got the ball; of course he'd do the same for Delilah. "He's doing well today,"
"He is,"
"Their mother must've been good at sports,"
"We don't talk about their mother," I rudely said.
"Dan they're gonna ask eventually,"
"Yeah well we don't have to worry about it for a few years so don't bring it up,"
"Dan calm down," he sighed. "We don't even know where she is. Who knows if she's married and her name has changed. Why are you freaking out so much?"
"What if they meet her and they want to go with her?"
"That's not gonna- COME ON DIL!" he cheered, "That's not gonna happen. They love you more than anything,"
"I guess I'm being ridiculous," I chuckled. Then we heard a scream. Phil and I darted our eyes to the field to see what had happened.
"Are one of you the parent of number 09?" One of the football mums went around asking. Our bodies froze when we realized Winston's number was 09.
"We are!" Phil and I yelled as we met up with the lady.
"What happened?" Phil asked.
"I'm not sure, I think he's injured. I'd get out there,"
"Oh my god," I mumbled as we ran onto the field. "Winnie are you okay?" I asked as I pushed my way through the people that surrounded my son. "Oh my god," my eyes began watering. "What happened?" I asked.
"My son slid into his leg. He must've broken something, I am so sorry!"
"Bear, is Winnie gonna be okay?"
"Dan get her out of here," Phil said.
"Bear what's wrong with Winnie?"
"Come here sweety," I said as I picked her up and brought her over to the car.
"Has someone called an ambulance yet?"
"Yes," the mum said. "I'm so sorry!"
"Don't say sorry to me!"
"Dad," Winston cried.
"It's gonna be okay," Phil sat down and held his hand. "What hurts?"
"Don't be funny dad,"
"No I'm serious! Your leg, your ankle, what?"
"My knee and my ankle,"
"It's gonna be okay,"

After about 10 minutes the ambulance came and took Winston to the hospital. Phil decided to ride in the back with him while I drove Delilah; we met at the nearest hospital. Thankfully the doctors took him in right away and began treating him.

"Okay, Mr. Howlter, are we waiting on your wife?" the doctor asked Phil.
"No, my husbands actually in the waiting room with our daughter. Why?"
"Oh...well I wanted to go over what we'd be doing and what happened your son,"
"You can tell me, I'll tell my husband later,"
"Alright, if you insist. Your sons knee and part of his ankle popped out of their sockets. We are going to do a small surgery to get them back into place. Then for a few months he'll be in a cast and have to go to physical therapy,"
"Wow...okay..."
"Also, we didn't have the heart to tell him this," the doctor took a deep breath, "even if the surgery goes over well and he does well in therapy, we don't think he'll ever be able to play football, or any sport for that matter, again. I'm sorry,"
"He's gonna be devastated," he sighed. "Thank you," he shook his hand.
"My name is Dr. Grant if you need me." Then he walked back into Winston's hospital room. A few minutes later, Phil joined Delilah and I in the waiting room.
"So?"
"He needs surgery,"
"Really?"
"Mhmm...they're starting now..."
"Oh my god,"
"Then he's gonna need physical therapy afterwards,"
"I feel so bad for him,"
"It gets worse," Phil sighed, "he can never play football or any sport again,"
"What! He loves football! It's all he ever does!"
"I know,"
"Does that mean I have to stop?" Delilah asked.
"Would your brother want you to stop?" I asked; Delilah shrugged. "The answer is no," I hugged her.
"So what now?" Delilah asked as she poked my dimple.
"We wait for your brother to be done with surgery..."