Football's Biggest Fan

I can not think of football without immediately thinking of my dad. My dad loved football. Pro, college, high school ... it didn't matter, he loved the game. So we learned to love it as well. Growing up, every Saturday and Sunday in our house, football was on the TV. He had his favorite teams but it didn't really matter if that team was playing because if a game was on TV, we were watching it. Therefore, I learned early on all about the game. Just because he didn't have any sons didn't mean he wasn't going to pass on his knowledge and most importantly his passion for the game.

We are Redskins fans, and from an early age I knew all the players, their positions and could follow a game pretty well. It was the era of The Hogs, The Fun Bunch and lets no forget, The Diesel, John Riggins. These names were often talked about and analyzed every Sunday from our couch. They were a part of our family. My dad took us to a Redskins game every year, an experience that I treasure and recall fondly. I remember my dad teaching me the counter trey in my bedroom with my stuffed animals as the defensive line and my two friends and I were the offense. It was hands on football training in the best way he knew. There was always a football around and he was always willing to throw it with you or anyone. He took the time to show me how to place my fingers on the laces and the exact way to throw so the ball would slide off my fingers into a perfect spiral down the field. No child of his would hear the words "You throw like a girl" coming from anyone if he had any say in it.  Boyfriends and guys from my school would often come by the house just to see my dad and bring friends and throw together a game in the back yard. When he found out that I was going to be attending the University of South Carolina, my dad's first response was "Great. They actually have a real football team!" In fact when my parent's drove me to college for the first time, we had to take a side trip out to the stadium before they headed home. We pulled up to the stadium and he pulled a football out of the trunk of the car. We some how managed to walk out on to the field and he told me to go long and threw me a perfect spiral pass. To this day, whenever I attend a game at Williams-Brice Stadium that memory isn't far away. When my son Jake was old enough and could barely hold his head up with the helmet on, my Dad signed him up to play football. My dad attended every practice and every game and was even named an honorary coach because he was there so often (and loudly coaching from the sidelines). To see my dad be able to pass that on to my son and share those moments with Jake is one of the fondest memories I have of him as a grandfather. Even life's challenges were often explained to us in football terms. The one he used most was: "Remember girls, don't go 99 yards just to punt."  I've even said that to my own kids when they feel like giving up on something.

I hope someday I'll be able to take my kids to a football game and let them experience the thrill of being in a stadium with the fans, the band and the excitement that comes along with it. But for now, I will be content with cuddling on the couch with my kids and thankful that I can pass on the tradition of loving the game that my father loved so much and instilled in me. So on this Super Bowl Sunday I hope you are enjoying the game with friends and family and cheering on you favorite team! I'll be sure to toast my dad and know that he's watching with us.

Poppi and Jake

Perfect Pasta

I guess I'll stick with the pasta theme and recount a story about when my dad had to cook dinner for us one night. I must have been in the 1st grade, we were living in Austin, TX and my mom was taking night classes. So that left my dad in charge of dinner a few nights a week, something that we were not accustomed to at all, because my mom always cooked dinner at our house. It was the way things were and to have Dad step into her shoes for a night filled me with a bit of trepidation.

So the first night we were left in our dad's care he made spaghetti. Pretty simple and straight forward and it went according to plan, right until the very end. As always, my dad took this opportunity to teach us something and at this moment it was how to make sure the pasta was perfectly done. We were standing around the stove as the pasta boiled, he reached in the pot, grabbed a noodle and flung it above his head and there it stuck to the ceiling. He smiled at us and said: "If it sticks, then it’s done." My sister and I stood there in disbelief. This most certainly was not the way mom made sure the pasta was done. We laughed at him and questioned his authority on this method but he convinced us with some fancy explanation (knowing him I'm sure it involved physics) and we believed him. After dinner as we cleaned up, I asked dad how he was going to get the spaghetti noodle off the ceiling and he looked at both of us and said, "Let's just leave it there. Let's see how long it takes mom to notice it. It will be our little secret." So, there it stuck. And there it stuck for days, maybe even months ... lets just say it was there for awhile before Mom finally discovered our secret.  But every time I was in the kitchen with dad, he would point up to the ceiling and we'd laugh and snicker at our little "secret". At our special moment in time where we came together and managed to fix dinner and survive without mom, well at least for one night.

I know that this isn't a life altering lesson in the overall scheme of things but he took an opportunity to turn a new and anxious experience in my life into a funny, silly moment that I remember often and always with a smile. So if you are ever at my house while I'm cooking spaghetti, you will no doubt see me grab a noodle out of the pot and throw it at the wall and say, "if it sticks, then it’s done". But no worries, I do clean up afterwards.

Carb it up

My daughter is in competitive gymnastics and sometimes it requires a bit of traveling outside of our home town. This weekend we are headed to upstate SC for a meet and I have the opportunity to visit with a dear college friend. She asked if there was anything specific that Jenna eats the night before her meet and it reminded me of a special tradition my dad started with my high school field hockey team.

My parents owned a pasta making company for a few years while we were in high school (you'll hear about that experience in a later installment) so we always had plenty of fresh pasta in our house. My dad always in his teaching/coach mode, insisted on having the entire field hockey team over before the first game of the year to load us up on some carbs for the big game. So after practice we all would gather at my house, sit around the table and devour some pasta. We would laugh and talk and eat and eat and eat. We saw it as just a time to hang out with our friends and eat some good food. But my dad knew it was an opportunity for the team to come together off the field and bond, which he knew would make us a much better team on the field. Now our hockey team didn't win a lot of games but we fought hard together and we stuck up for each other. We probably lost more games then we won but we came together as a team and always had a good time on and off the field. We were more than just teammates, we were friends and we were a family. So I want to thank my dad and my mom (she did the majority of the cooking) for providing me with not just a bowl of pasta but with the opportunity to form some friendships that have lasted a lifetime.

So a special shout out to all my Wakefield field hockey sisters: Next time your in the neighborhood, stop by and we can share a plate of pasta.

Relentless Pursuit

My dad used these two words a lot and usually together. The dictionary defines it as:
      Relentless: showing or promising no abatement of severity, intensity, strength, or pace
      Pursuit: the act of following in order to overtake, capture, kill, or defeat

To me it just meant basically to never give up, don't stop till you get what you are after, stick with it and you will succeed. I was probably about 12 years old when I heard my dad yell these words at me for the first time. And yes, you read correctly, he yelled them at me. A bunch of us had gathered down at the pond for a day of ice skating and laughs and my dad decided to start a game of ice skating tag. Well, of course I was the youngest, so I was "it" more often than I wasn't, but my dad knew that I had staying power if not speed. He pulled me aside and told me that I needed to find my target (in this case a friend of my dad's who was a bit wobbly on his skates) and then to stay with him, because pretty soon he would take a spill. He looked at me and said "you can tag him, just stick with it." With that he skated off and looked over his shoulder and yelled at me ... "Remember Gaby, relentless pursuit. Relentless pursuit!" And he was right, it might have taken a bit longer than I liked but instead of giving up I stayed on his heels and skated after him and wouldn't you know it ... down he went and I was there to tag him.

He would tell me these words often and in many different circumstances. It became my cheer from him in whatever I set out to accomplish. Sometimes victory and success came quickly and other times it was a long and tedious journey but as long as I kept pursuing then my success, in some form or another, would come. So these days when things are not going at quite the speed I'd like or an obstacle is thrown my way and I'm feeling less than motivated, I often hear my dad's voice in my head shouting : "Relentless pursuit Gaby". I'm reminded of that moment on the ice when he yelled at me and saw the strength inside of me to never give up. It encourages me, yet again to keep going and if I do I know I will succeed.

So today, I'd like to give you a bit of encouragement in whatever it is you are pursuing. I'll be your cheerleader standing on the sideline, yelling at you .... Relentless pursuit! Relentless pursuit!

Welcome

That's a picture of my dad and me about 36 years ago. I don't remember that day specifically but I'm told that he was teaching me how to fly a kite. I have no doubt he was doing that but also teaching me some little life lesson while he showed me how to maneuver the kite as well. That was my dad and I was definitely daddy's lil girl. (Seriously, ask anyone who knows our family and they will agree!)

I find myself lately saying ... "Well, my dad taught me ..." to  my friends but mainly to my children, so I thought I should probably start writing some of these things down to pass along to them. You see, my dad died three years ago and I hope that by recording his little life lessons he taught (big and small, silly and important), I will honor him in a way I know he would love. He encouraged me from a young age to write because he saw the joy I got from it and a passion I had for it. I guess its about time I finally listened to him on that bit of advice: "Gaby, don't ever stop writing. Write every day, even if it's just a little bit each day, sit down and write."

So, welcome to my blog. I apologize up front for any blogging etiquette I lack and ask that you bear with me as I fumble my way along this new adventure. So stay tuned for some interesting stories and funny memories I have with my dad. I hope that as you join me on this journey that you catch a glimpse of the incredible man that was my father, maybe smile or even chuckle at our expense, perhaps stir a special memory that you have about your own dad and maybe, just maybe ... learn a life lesson too! 

Thanks dad for all the lessons, laughs and a wonderful lifetime of memories.