To: You – From: Dad – Re: NFL Football

After a few months into the pregnancy, your Ma and I quickly determined that your Da’s paycheck was going to be stretched a lot further than before. So we started by (among other things) dropping cable. We had a DVR with HBO and a hundred channels of nothing; we scaled back to the basic tier and saved ourselves more than $50 a month. It’s funny, because as I write this I’m betting you’ll have no idea what I’m talking about. Tiers? Cable company “package deals”? Sitting there in the distant future, when you’re able to actually comprehend what I’m writing here, you’ll probably be in the middle of a wonderful “cable channel a la carte” era that the cable company has resisted for decades. But anyway, back in the olden days the cable companies forced you to pay for dozens of channels you never end up watching. It’s a great scam, but I digress…

We dropped down to the basic tier, which freed up a lot of time for your Da on Sundays. I was very productive. Your Ma was able to get me to do some cleaning, organizing, filing, all manner of labor to prepare for you arrival. That lasted about a month. Something had to be done to nip all that productivity in the bud. And that something became football!

We’re talking about the 2005-2006 season, one of the most entertaining seasons in Carolina Panther’s history. We made it all the way to the NFC Championship dance, my boy. Got smooshed by Seattle. But, again, I digress. Point being that your Da got all sorts of wrapped up in the spectacle, probably because I already had all sorts of emotions flying as I was also cradling you in my arms and bottle-feeding you. I hadn’t been that excited about a professional sports team since the ’82-’83 Redskins.

So you need to know that I’m arriving to the full-blown football-fan status rather late and I would never claim to speak with any authority on anything. But I wanted to share some valued wisdom that has guided me and that you may find comfort in. Whether you’re a football fan or not, on any given Sunday at some point in your life you’re going to be put on the spot to declare your allegiance to a team. For example, you’ll be invited a SuperBowl party or something and right before you step a foot in the door the host (wearing some jersey and some face paint) is going to want to know who you’re pulling for. People like decision-makers, son. Don’t look at the television and shrug. Instead, rise to the occasion and follow my helpful 10 question matrix. If one of the teams answers “yes” to any of the questions below, proceed no further and root for the other team:

1. Are you the Dallas Cowboys?
2. Are you the New York Giants?
3. Are you the Atlanta Falcons?
4. Are you the New Orleans Saints?
5. Are you the Tennessee Titans?
6. Are you the Philadelphia Eagles?
7. Are you the Tampa Bay Buccaneers?
8. Are you in the AFC?
9. Did you win the SuperBowl last year?
10. Did you win the SuperBowl in the last three years?

To: You – From: Dad – Re: Halloween '07

I liken the last 72 hours to reading the screenplay of a horror movie; no one will ever be able to convince me that reading horror emotes the same kind of reaction as watching it. One is all about the thrills, the chills, the special effects, the immediacy; the other is more of a head-game where the seemingly endless exposition lingers and haunts after you've put the book down. But since Halloween morning your mother and I have encountered our fair share of faceless, bureaucratic nightmare creatures (hospital workers/administrators) as well as that old horror genre mainstay: the Unknown.

Dr. C said the surgery was going to last two hours. After the third hour of sitting in that waiting room with absolutely no word from anyone about anything, all sorts of fear-induced phantasms were running through my head. After roughly four hours, Dr. C finally came back to tell us how they were really taking their time with you and that they encountered some unexpecteds that they needed to manage. (Apparently the work they did in the second surgery, the Achilles' tendon lengthening in your right leg, was scarred up and needed to be re-done. On top of that they up and decided to cut/stretch one of the tendon associated with your big toes because Dr. C didn't like the way they were starting to hook inward. So, including the pins and the tendon lengthening in your left leg, that brought your total incisions to 10.) Only one of us was allowed in post-op at a time and I cried when it was my turn. When you didn't look lifeless and pale your face would crinkle and contort right before you cried out in exhausted anguish. I sang songs, I stroked your hair, I went through a list of everyone I know to say that they were wishing you well and that they loved you, but your pain was like one of those horror movie monsters that just kept coming back. There was no soothing you. It took two or three hours just to get a hospital room. You would sleep for fifteen minutes and wake up crying. I think the longest stretch of sleep we got was around five or six in the morning when you slept for about three hours straight. Seemingly possessed, you would wrestle and fight with us to try and rip your own IV out of your hand. When we were discharged by Dr. C, it took two or three hours for the nurse to clear it and finally get your IV taken out.

Since then you've been unhappy with just about everything. There's still no soothing you. We'll offer you a slice of apple; you'll whine and cry like you don't know what it is, insulted that we're holding it out to you. So we'll drop it in your lap and you'll pick it up, inspect it for a sobby second, suddenly remember that you like apple slices, and take a nibble. After you swallow it down you'll whine and cry again, just to sort of punctuate the fact that you're still grouchy and irritable even though you're eating a nice piece of fresh fruit.

Mom and I are at our wit's end. I just spent the last 10 or 15 minutes stroking little circles on your back, trying to get you to go back to sleep. Now, mind you, that's 10 or 15 minutes of just that. It took 10 or 15 minutes just to get you calmed down and back in your crib.

I'm sorry that we can't go on walks. I'm sorry that these casts add, like, fifty pounds to your legs and make crawling very difficult. I'm sorry that the train and the trucks outside our house seem to be just a few decibels nosier than they were earlier this week. Welcome to November, buddy. We'll get through it together.

I Will Pay...

From the guy who brought you "Al Spoils [some movie I probably didn't like]" comes the first installment of the soon-to-be-a-classic SiS series "I Will Pay...". Wherein our hero will share a dream or a goal or a desire and how much cold-hard cash our hero is willing to shell out for services rendered. So let's get started!

...$50 for a 160GB Western Digital "My Book" external hard drive (Essential Edition). Ah, but there's more to it than just that. I broke mine. I need a part to fix it and retrieve all the data on it. The aforementioned hard drive must have a certain model number (and probably a certain S/N, I'll have to check on that) that I'm unwilling to share in this public forum. Only serious sellers should respond! You can look at my Blogger profile and email me, or post a comment. I've got PayPal. If you're local, I've got cash.

To: You – From: Dad – Re: Art, part 1

What I'm really digging on with this one is your choice of color. The use of color leaves a little to be desired, but then that might be your overall intent and who am I to question that. But I like the crisp green at the bottom and the mellow red off to the sides. That and I like the one single red line that cuts across the car and into the text. You executed that nicely; it doesn't appear out of place or lonely, it looks like part of a bigger whole. Like the tail of a stingray or something.