Super Bowl

I'm sick. Very sick. Nasal passages draining, sneezes abounding, and a fever making me feel like I'm on illicit narcotics. (Not that I'd know!)

This illness has put a crimp in our Super Bowl watching plans. Bethany, who has embraced baseball and football as a way to show her love for me, was excited to finally go a Super Bowl party for more than just the food. I guess there's always next year (when my Seahawks will be playing in the game).

All of this has reminded me of my father. A decade ago, my father's birthday fell on the same day as the Super Bowl. He fell quite ill, which would have been bad enough. But then our septic tank backed up and our front yard smelled of sewage. He went outside in the cold and unearthed the tank, while the rest of us piled into the van and drove away to watch Elway beat Favre.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, "Thanks, Dad." Just as Bethany was moved to salute her mother, these two weeks of parenting have dramatically increased my appreciation for everything my father did for me. With that said, praise be to God that, at least this year, our toilets are working fine and Evangeline didn't go to the party without me.