I’m Crying About Football

Image credit: get-covers.com

Image credit: get-covers.com

It’s stupid.

I’m sitting here, crying about the Super Bowl.

I have kept shoving the thoughts to the back of mind, hoping they will just go away and leave me alone. Leave me in the land where I go to a Super Bowl party to watch the commercials, and get together with friends. A land where I don’t care about the Big Sports Ball Game, and just enjoy being surrounded by people who do. It really is fun to be part of a sports-loving crowd sometimes…

Dad was a Seahawks fan. Since the days of Steve Largent.

And tomorrow, I’ll be wearing his old Seahawks sweatshirt in a sea of friends clad in orange and blue for the Broncos. I know I’ll take some good-natured ribbing, but hey – I look forward to it. It’s one more connection I didn’t know I needed.

It feels stupid. It’s just football.

I’ve never cared about sports. I don’t dislike them. They’re just not on my radar, in spite of Dad’s best efforts.

You see, he taught me how to throw a softball, shoot a basket, and to spiral a football. I even learned to swing a tennis racket. However, I was his ballerina. I watched games with him growing up, and loved cheering on my sisters in their various sportsball games.

But, sports just aren’t me.

They are part of him, though.

So, I’m crying about the Super Bowl.

I didn’t expect it to matter.

But it does.

Grace & Peace,

For You, Daddy:


3 thoughts on “I’m Crying About Football

  1. The first few years were the hardest for me because there were so many things that reminded me of my Daddy, yet he wasn’t there anymore doing what he should be doing. We didn’t wake up & run to the tree Christmas morning. Just sat in silence as Momma tried her best, but she didn’t try to be him by passing out presents like he did. But it’s not just holidays, but anything & everything about him. Newspaper stands with papers from all over, cigar shops and old classic cars. I could not make these things not exist anymore. Men who wore a Fedora reminded me, and the smell of Old Spice. And 45 years later, I still think of him when I cuddle my husband and smell his Old Spice deodorant. But it goes from being this painful familiarity and emptiness to a warming & comforting smile inside. I so wish I could just blink my eyes & move you forward in time just 2 years even. But for now all I can do is scoot over closer to you, put my arm around you & share your tears. Love you, Tiff.

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