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A father's celebration of more than the Super Bowl

I have my grocery list in front of me. It reads: licorice (black, red, chocolate), M&M’s (regular and peanut), Oreos, Chips Ahoy, Snickers, Three Musketeers, doughnuts, Raisinets, jelly beans, gummy bears and chocolate cake.

Obviously, I have no intention of eating all that junk myself. Like many of us, Sunday I’ll be throwing a Super Bowl party. Well, not a party, it’ll be just me and my son Clay. The food is for the two of us. It’s a tradition we have, one that started when he was just 5.

You see, I was, for a short time, a star.

Every parent is. A stay-at-home father with three kids, I was the object of constant attention. My children wanted me to watch them all day every day. They drew pictures for me and followed me around, demanding I pay attention to their every comment and movement. I was a celebrity in my own home, with three tiny fans who thought I’d hung the moon.

Like every star, I longed for privacy. I loved my kids but I wanted time to myself. And so, one year, I asked my wife Mary if I could watch the Super Bowl alone. I wanted to eat junk food and actually watch one game a year without interruption. It went so well, I did it again the next year.

The third year, my son asked if he could watch with me. I thought long and hard about it, and then told him he could, but that this was a special quiet time and that we couldn’t talk. And then I said he could eat anything he wanted but if he got sick, he couldn’t complain until the end of the fourth quarter. Yeah, not so proud of that part.

And then, it was a tradition. Year after year, Clay, and sometimes my daughter Grace and youngest son Nati, would sit with me in silence watching the Super Bowl, the group of us sprawled on the couch, munching away, laughing at the ads.

It was my favorite day of the year.

Like most celebs, I figured my ride would last. I thought I’d always be sought after, that my kids would hang on my every word forever. It doesn’t work that way, of course. My children are teenagers. Last year my eldest went away to college and next fall my daughter will, too. Like dozens of former sitcom stars and talk show hosts, my fans have moved on. That’s just the nature of celebrity.

And so, when I asked my son this time last year where he was going to watch the game, I was thrilled when he said he wanted to watch with me. It was, he said, our thing. I bought my plane ticket while we were still on the phone and flew to North Carolina. We sat on a bed in my hotel room, arm in arm, eating candy and watching I have no idea who, beat I don’t know who else.

It was the best game I’d ever seen.

I suppose I’d always known that one day my kids would move on, but what I hadn’t counted on was that eventually the tables would turn and my wife and I would become their obsessed fans. My wife treats my daughter the same way teens treated Paul McCartney in 1964. It’s all she can do not to shriek every time Grace walks into the room.

I’m no better. I’m thrilled when my kids and their friends hang out with us before going out for the night. The first time my son called me from college, I literally took notes on what he was saying so my wife and I could discuss every detail of what he was doing. Fly to North Carolina to watch a football game? Are you kidding, I’d gladly walk.

I don’t think any of this is especially sad. Staying at home with three young kids was exhausting, and I did need a break. Yes, I sometimes wish I’d enjoyed my time as a star a little more, but being star struck has its pleasures too. I’m going to be spending the weekend with a huge celebrity and like any fan, I’m as giddy as can be.

Besides, the other day, my wife turned to me and asked if I thought it was possible that one day we’d love our grandchildren as much as we love our kids. I’m pretty sure we will. The last time I went to my own parents’ house, I noticed they had autographed pictures of all three of my kids. And if I am ever lucky enough to become a grandfather, when game day comes around, don’t worry, I’ll bring the candy.



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