Begging For Forgiveness

My brothers and I were rarely on the same page when it came to which sports franchises to root for. Growing up in the shadow of Philadelphia we were all pretty much Phillies fans, but not necessarily avid ones. When it came to the NFL my oldest was an Eagles fan and brother number two was a Cowboys fan. I was neither, although Buddy Ryan’s Eagles teams were exciting to watch. (Heck, some of the best defenses in league history and an offensive game plan of snapping the ball to Randall Cunningham and seeing what he does with it was pretty cool.) I was a Sixers fan but I don’t recall my brothers showing much enthusiasm for the NBA. As for hockey, c’mon this is America – who cares!

However, when the USFL came into being we were all in agreement – the Philadelphia Stars were the bomb! Here we found agreement and excitement about the same team once and for all. And those were good days; the Stars were the class of the league, appearing in all three championship games and winning two in the USFL’s short, three-season life. It was disappointing to see them move to Baltimore for that last season.

My oldest brother and his Philadelphia Stars cap were inseparable from the moment he placed it on his head until he graduated high school…probably even after that. He even wore that cap during curtain calls of the plays he performed in as a senior. I’m convinced he tried to get the director to add it to his character’s wardrobe. One cannot fail to notice that it was a prized possession of his.

Once, while on a family vacation through Tennessee and Kentucky, he had a moment of panic. We were driving along when he urgently asked, “Where’s my Stars cap? Where’s my Stars cap?” Upon turning around brother number two responded, “It’s on your head!” Needless to say, we’ve given him guff about this for over thirty years, even if only by sharing this story with others lately.

However, I must beg my brother’s forgiveness; for I, too, had a bone-headed moment with a prized possession.

We went for a walk yesterday morning before I had to go into work. As is her custom, my four-year-old asked me to carry her, but at forty-three years of age my arms can’t hold her for what I knew would be a long walk, so I let her climb on my back figuring this would help get my blood flowing. Mommy and the eight-year-old were pushing the boy in his stroller, and the two teenagers were taking the lead initially.

After heading down the hill we turned left. About a quarter mile (or a little more) down the road we made another left and began to ascend one of the many hills in our neighborhood. (Heck, one of the many hills in our city – there’s nary a flat yard to be found.) Shortly after making the turn, I began to look ahead at my family. There’s mommy and the eight-year-old pushing the boy in his stroller, there are the teenagers probably talking about boys…where’s the four-year-old. “Where is she? Where is she?”

“She’s on your back, Dad!” said the surprised eighteen-year-old before bursting into laughter, shortly followed by the fourteen-year-old and eight-year-old. Needless to say, giving her a piggy-back ride may have gotten my blood flowing, just apparently not to my brain. I have to give my brother credit; forgetting you’re wearing a cap which weighs only a few ounces is much less embarrassing than forgetting a forty-plus pound kid hanging on your back, especially when  BOTH of your arms are holding her up and you’re contorting your body trying to locate said forty-plus pound kid!

Actually, come to think of it, it’s even more embarrassing than that. Perhaps it wasn’t our other brother who noticed the Stars cap on his head, he may have just said, “Oh, I’m wearing it.” Yup, much more alert than I.

Well, at least the boy will not remember this little incident. And, in all likelihood, neither will the four-year-old who was the star of the whole show. Perhaps even the eight-year-old will forget. But, rest assured, my teenagers will NEVER let me forget this one.

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Epitome of Random – vol. 22

  • My son likes to swing around a little toy hammer every now and then. Either that, or a spoon. So he admires Thor and the Tick. Hmmm, not sure how to take that.
  • My son took his socks off and slipped his arm out of his shirt during dinner. If he plans on being a Chippendale he better hope for Thor’s physique.
  • I saw a bumper sticker that read HATE FREE ZONE. What kind of commie would hate free zones?
  • At my last physical I was seen by a Dr. Thor. I refused to let him test my reflexes for fear of shattering my patella!
  • The boy had picked up a card of some kind near the bathroom. Mommy told him, “Give it to Daddy.” He then proceeded to walk to the toilet and drop it in. Not entirely sure how to take that.