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THE EXTRA YARD SEPTEMBER 2018 Football and My Father
Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, Sundays this time of year were often spent hurrying home from church to make some spaghetti and watch the Seahawks games on TV. This was a big deal for me as a child because my parents hardly ever let us use the television. But football brought our whole family together in our little living room, which probably played a role in igniting my love of the sport. I became the No. 1 campaigner in the household to watch football, especially when Seattle was playing. Eventually, my advocacy caught on with my father, turning him from someone mildly interested in football to a diehard Seahawks fan in his own right. While we were living in Tacoma, we sometimes got to go to a live game at the old Seattle Kingdome as a special treat. I’ll never forget the first game we went to. It was Dec. 18, 1983 — the last home game of the season. We’d gotten there early to watch warmups, and I was thrilled to see the players I’d idolized on TV in action! touchdown pass to my childhood hero, Steve Largent. I remember it so clearly because I happened to be in the bathroom at the time and it sounded like an earthquake! To this day I’m still haunted by missing the play that helped propel the Seahawks to a 24-6 victory over the Patriots and helped send my Hawks to their first playoff season in franchise history. We weren’t a family that had extra money to spend on recreation and didn’t get a chance to attend many games. Whether we were watching the seahawks play on TV or squinting down from the nosebleeds in the Kingdome, Football I was 7 or 8 years old at the time, but I distinctly remember Dave Krieg throwing a deep
fostered a real bond between my father and I. We’d talk back and forth about the best players and see who could come closest to guessing what the final score would be before the game started. Attending those games was such a foundational part of my childhood that when I grew up and got my law degree, I was determined to give the same experience back to my father.
I got my chance on Feb. 1, 2015, when I took my father to Super Bowl XLIX to watch our beloved Seahawks once again take on the New England Patriots. Now, I won’t sugarcoat it; the game itself was a painful loss. That cursed interception still makes me wince. But my dad and I had a blast during the game, even during Katy Perry’s halftime show. (We may have made fun of her performance.) After the game, we both needed to process the loss. Since we were in Arizona anyway, we drove out to the Grand Canyon and took a deep breath. That was the medicine we needed. We were reminded that, win or lose, we are blessed to live
Whether we were watching the seahawks play on TV or squinting down from the nosebleeds in the Kingdome, Football fostered a real bond between my father and I.”
in a beautiful country. A nation where a kid from a working-class family can get taken to the occasional football game by his dad, go to law school, and one day return the favor and attend the Super Bowl with his dad. That’s a win in my book.
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