Drop Back and Punt

It’s easy for any one of us to get caught up in the thick of things. A conversation. A situation at work. Bad news. Or sometimes, oddly enough, a string of good things happening too fast. Life gains momentum and suddenly we’re sprinting without realizing we’ve lost our footing. Before we know it, we’re stuck in a full-blown Lather. Rinse. Repeat. loop—reacting instead of responding, running plays that aren’t getting us anywhere.

I was having a conversation with my son yesterday when I could see his mood starting to tilt toward that familiar cliff of anxiety. His words came faster. His breathing shortened. I could almost hear his heart racing ahead of him. As expected, his voice began to rise. I remember thinking, Well, that escalated quickly.

And then—clear as day—I heard my father.

“Drop back and punt, Karen Anne.”

Now, I don’t know if it was my dad’s presence slipping quietly into the room—he left us two years ago yesterday—or just one of those instinctual mother moments where memory and muscle reflex collide. Either way, there it was. One of his Spitballs of Knowledge, perfectly timed.

My dad was famous for them. He had a deep bullpen of phrases and adages he rotated through our lives, always uncannily tailored to the exact moment we were in. “Drop Back and Punt” was a big one. We watched the New York Giants with him every Sunday from the time I was… three? Four? Football wasn’t just a game in our house—it was a language. We knew the plays, the rhythm, the patience required when a drive wasn’t going your way.

To my dad, “Drop Back and Punt” literally meant this: stop. Take two or three steps back—no more, that’s all the NFL allows—and punt the ball. Give yourself space. Reassess. Change the angle. Clear the field so you can regroup and move forward with intention instead of force.

That message—along with so many others—carried us through some pretty wacky moments, and some very serious ones too. It showed up in boardrooms, family kitchens, hospital waiting rooms, and long car rides where the answers weren’t obvious yet.

Yesterday, my son took that golden nugget from his grandfather and ran with it. He slowed his breathing. His shoulders dropped. The field opened up. Calmness replaced chaos.

And in that moment, I realized something: maybe my dad never really left the game. Maybe he just moved upstairs to the coaching booth. Quietly calling plays. Stepping in as Offensive Coordinator exactly when we need him. Reminding us that not every moment is meant to be charged ahead—sometimes the smartest move is to drop back, punt, and trust that there’s another drive coming.

🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈🏈

Copyright 2026 © mobileorderforkaren All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical reviews or scholarly work. This work is protected under domestic and international copyright laws. Unauthorized use or reproduction of this material is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action.

Unknown's avatar

Author: KikiFikar

Kiki Fikar is a native New Yorker who is passionate about taking the day to day life we all experience and sharing it in her tales from Suburbia. She will often be found at the gym, writing snippets each day for future story lines, listening to her two children create their lives, and building the perfect beachfront home and writing retreat in her mind.

30 thoughts on “Drop Back and Punt”

  4. Dad was a stoic philosopher. Control what you can and let the rest go. By the way I am a patriots fans and I am not happy losing two super bowls to the Giants. The trauma is real.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I hear you. Yes I know! I’m happy for your Patriots this year though! Here’s the thing. It wasn’t until Brady’s last year that I warmed up to him. I developed a real love and respect for him. I’ll be rooting for you in the Super Bowl my new friend! 🏈

    Liked by 1 person

  7. This is so wonderful and deeply touching. My Dad was the same way. He had these little quotes and sayings that were funny, original, and always made perfect sense at just the right time. It’s amazing how those moments still live on through us.

    We still quote my Dad all the time. The best is when a Menards commercial comes on and we all start singing it to our oldest son 😂🎶 He hated Menards as a kid, and my dad would always tease him, “Hey Joshua… save big money at Menards!!!” 😂

    What a gift these memories are. God truly weaves their voices into our hearts, reminding us we’re never alone. ✝️ Sometimes He speaks through love, memory, and the wisdom passed down. 🙏

    Liked by 1 person

  9. This made me smile. Thank you so much my friend! I’d love to hear more about your Dad someday!

    My Dad loved the old Wendy’s commercial. I think it was a Russian Fashion show and they announced the models…Day Wear…Swim Wear. Then he would bust out laughing. We still say it to this day.

    Hope your week is going great!

    Liked by 1 person

  14. How lucky you all are and me as well as I am going to tuck this “Drop back and Punt” into my mental diary to use it at the right time!
    It’s such a lovely feeling when via such incidents they show their presence and we feel that they are watching over us🤗
    What a beautiful manual for emotional regulation♥️

    Liked by 1 person

  23. I just always thought of it as the next play after reassessing your options on the field. The strategy of self-awareness is something I wish we could impart more to these younger generations.

    Like

  28. This was such a powerful reflection. The way you described momentum—how quickly it can tip from movement into overwhelm—felt incredibly real. That moment where you recognize anxiety before it fully takes over is something many of us struggle to catch in time, and you captured it with so much clarity.

    Your father’s phrase carried such weight, not just as a memory but as a living tool. I love how it surfaced exactly when it was needed, guiding both you and your son back to steadiness. That quiet handoff of wisdom across generations was especially moving—it shows how lessons rooted in care don’t fade, they evolve.

    The idea that he’s still “calling plays” from somewhere just out of sight is both comforting and beautiful. It’s a reminder that slowing down isn’t giving up ground—it’s often the smartest way to regain it. Thank you for sharing something so thoughtful and deeply human.

    Liked by 2 people

  29. Sobbing! Thank you! You know when you write a thought and you think “will my reader truly understand what I’m trying to say here?” Well – you did. This is exactly what I was trying to convey. Exactly.

    Thank you for reading but more importantly for sharing your feelings on my feelings! ❤️

    With respect,

    Kiki

    Liked by 2 people

Leave a comment