Most memories of my daddy are invariably linked to football, a bittersweet reminder of how much that bond impacted my life and career path and how much I wish he were around to see it.
It’s more than the games I wish we could attend, or struggling to ignore his absence on game-day as if that gaping void he once filled is just another member of the family. And it’s more than the emotional tension of making new memories that often comes with the fear of forgetting the old ones.
Dad and I were born during football season, 40 years and 20 days apart.