Memories of my childhood seem to occupy much of my thoughts this weekend.
I'm not sure why.
When I was a little girl, Sunday was my favorite day.
Everything I know about Football was learned from
Sunday afternoons with my Dad.
. . . and it had nothing to do with him teaching me.
We had a thing ~ A ritual, you might call it.
A mutually beneficial arrangment.
You see . . .
Dad loved his Sunday afternoon football.
I loved having my back tickled.
We had a system worked out.
Dad would sit in his favorite chair, then I prop myself on the footstool between his knees
while he lovingly rubbed my back, and played with my hair.
And the mutally beneficial part ?
He was able to watch the game,
and I didn't make him play Barbies, or Store, or Rockstar with me.
It was perfect.
I would sit there for hours, game after game, play after play.
Occassionally he would get excited over a fumble or interception
and his knees would slam together, crushing me in the process.
Then we would laugh.
And the tickling would resume.
After football, while Mom made supper, Dad and I looked forward to
the one night of the week we ate in front of the TV.
He would get everything ready (which was a folding card table)
I loved to crawl underneath it, pretending it was my secret cave,
and sometimes he would join me.
WIth the aroma and sounds of dinnertime filling the room,
Dad and I snuggled in the cave for our favorite show . . .
Dad loved nature shows almost as much as he loved football.
After Marlin Perkins was done his thing, it was time for supper.
We all sat together at the card table,
and as if in her own magical way, Mom always managed to have everything ready just in time for the opening credits of....
Which was followed by another favorite. . .
Happy Sunday, Dad !!!
I love you.