As a person who has always (except at the moment) been very underweight for his size (I'm 5'9" and I weighed between 117 - 125 lbs in high school), and as a person who played Peewee football at age 11, and as a person who has had his femur snapped completely in half at age 12, I can tell you this:
1. I've been hit/tackled by kids who were 50+ lbs my superior with no major problems. Once you learn how to take a fall and your equipment fits correctly, it is not a big deal at all. As a friend of mine during the Peewee days once said, "It's kinda fun being tackled." I don't know if I ever fully agreed to that, but the equipment does a great job at protecting you out there. You learn the rest on your own.
2. If he got his femur bone, the biggest and strongest bone in the entire body, broken by some 90 lb kids tackling him then I would be shocked and amazed. It took a 10 foot fall onto a hard surface where the impact was directly on the bone itself to cause mine to break. I have since learned just how tough and sturdy that bone can be.
The biggest thing for a smaller kid to learn while playing football is to just not be afraid. Sure he may get some bumps and bruises, and the worst case scenario is a broken bone. But overall it's a safe sport and one to get enjoyment from as he gets better at it.
Football isn't my sport of choice to play, but I don't regret my time playing it as a kid. Sure, I got knocked around more easily than others. But you learn what your strengths are, and the coaches learn what your strengths are, and they play to those.
(Story time, regular post has ended)
Just be sure that you don't have an overexcited coach who sees a one-time moment of awesomeness and thinks it can be a regular occurrence.
One of the kids on my team, who was also one of the 50+ lbs my superior, was one of my school's bullies. And earlier in the year he had made me a target of it. I was always apprehensive with him on my team but there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. And, of course, he never started anything during practices.
Well, one of the drills we would do was form two lines. A person at the front of each line would face off in a small lane of cones. The first line of people would be the tacklers, the other line would be the people holding the ball and attempt to get past the tackler. I was in the tackler line. As fate would have it, the bully was in the ball-running line. When it came to be my turn, I was squared-off against the bully.
Again, my job was to tackle this kid who outweighed me by a fair amount and his job was to just blast his way past me. On top of this, he had the psychological edge on me, since he had bullied me in the past.
His first run through, I got him to the ground but only barely. His second run through, I still managed to wrestle him to the ground, but again, it was not the best tackle in the world.
The coaches, getting a little annoyed, gave their bits of harsh wisdom. None of which I remember, or care to. What I do remember is this: I mentally and emotionally focused myself on the bully. I thought about all the torment he caused me. I thought about how it made me feel not being able to fight back. I focused on that rage and fanned the flames of it. I then took it, and compressed it into a super compact highly volatile pit in my stomach.
The bully took the ball, he made his third run. I ran at him. The compressed ball of nitro glycerine rage exploded. My memory is a blur but I do remember a few things with crystal clarity. 1. I slammed into the kid so hard that I truly did lift both of his feet off of the ground. 2. My force was enough to not only get him airborn, but push him the opposite direction. 3. I remember being on the ground with him, face to face, and his exhale was audible, like he had gotten the wind knocked out of him. 4. I remember the coaches going berzerk and howling and cheering with mad glee.
Towards the end of practice, the bully approached me when I was alone and quietly told me "That was a good tackle." He never once bothered me again.
I tell this story because, as I said, you need to be sure that coaches don't see a one-time moment of awesomeness as something that can be capitalized on and repeated. Because of my superhuman tackle, the coaches assumed I could give them an Adam Sandler "Waterboy" performance (many years before anyone knew what that movie was) on demand. They made me a Nose Guard on Defense (basically the guy right in front of the other guy who hikes the ball). It didn't work out too well.
_________________ Les Zombis et les Loups-Garous!
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