From my upcoming short story book, Fried Chicken & Wine and in honor of football season.
First Quarter:
The father led his son by the hand. When they emerged from the dark tunnel into the vast football stadium, the little boy stopped in awe. A sea of humanity, dressed in bright colors roared in unison as the team ran out of the end-zone tunnel. The father helped the son put his hand over his heart during the National Anthem. The son saw his father tear up as the jet roared over the stadium. The band played and then the whistle blew. The players ran out onto the field. It was a sensory thanksgiving shared by 100,000 people. But as far as the little boy was concerned, he and his father were alone.
Second Quarter:
The boy was in college now. His dad came up for the big game and the two sat together in the family’s seats. The two men had little in common but spoke the same language: college football. The son bought his dad a hot dog and a Coke. The dad looked at his meal and laughed. “I’m paying thousands in tuition; the least you can do is buy me lunch.” The crowd roared as their team scored another touchdown. As far as the dad was concerned, they were the only two people in the whole stadium.
Third Quarter:
The son led his son in by the hand. Halftime had just ended and they had to make another bathroom break. His grandson was more interested in the concession stand than the game, but the grandfather smiled. He knew that would change. The three men sat together in the family’s seats and cheered as their team scored another touchdown. The clock was ticking down. Faster, it seemed, to the son and the father. The grandson just sat and ate some more cotton candy. To him, they were the only three people in the stadium.
Fourth Quarter.
The grandson was now in college. He was the third generation to go there and the three men sat together in special handicap seats. The grandfather was now in a wheelchair and the dad made sure he could see the game well enough. Bright colors filled the stadium and cheers drowned out every other possible noise. The band played the fight song and the crowd sang to the top of its collective lungs. The clock counted down to zero. As the son and grandson helped push the grandfather’s wheelchair toward the exit, the grandfather looked at the two men he loved and said, “It has been an amazing game. Let’s pray for overtime.”