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So everything was going great after my recent foot surgery. The incision healed up nicely, my foot felt great and it seemed my foot problems (beginning with Morton’s Neuroma and then an infection that caused a second surgery) were behind me. I figured I’d be back running by New Year’s, if not sooner.

Southern California had a rare rainstorm on Thanksgiving Eve, and on Thanksgiving, my boys and their friends decided the day screamed for some mud football before sitting down to a turkey dinner. I went with them to throw the ball around and take pictures.

Clockwise from top left: Oliver, Matthew, Taylor, Tristan.

I got quickly sucked into the game. Do you know how much fun mud football is? I looked down at my feet — which were in flip-flops. I looked at my scar, which seemed to have closed long ago. Why not? I kicked off the sandals and allowed my feet to sink into the grass and mud. They felt great.

The game provided one of those magical slices of time where everything seems right with the world. My older boys (ages 19 and 17) provided the old man with fun physical challenges (I kicked their ass), and the little guys (ages 11 and had wide smiles on their faces the whole time. The only thing better than watching your kids play sports is playing the game with them. And we played for a couple of hours.

After showering off the mud and grass, I looked down at my foot and noticed my scar had partially opened. Ah-oh. I put some antibotic cream and bandage on it. By Friday morning, my foot was swollen. By Friday night, it was on fire. And today, I awoke in incredible pain and when I pressed on the wound, let’s just say an amazing amount of “fluid” came out.

After a trip to the Urgent Care center, I’m not on antibotics and Vicodin. My foot still hurts, but now I don’t care.

I’ve spent much of the past 24 hours pissed off at myself for playing mud football in my barefeet when I hadn’t fully healed. But now — and it might just be the Vicodin talking — I thinking that in the long run, the joy of playing football with my kids on Thanksgiving will be what I (and they) remember about turkey day, 2008. Pain is temporary, but those memories will be forever.