of chasms and football. Or, a letter about my father, on his birthday

I keep restarting this letter. I don't know why it's so hard this year. Maybe because my dad and I have been really distant this year. A lot of things have happened to push that boundary further away than it usually is. We can usually find something to connect on, even if we only talk for five minutes. But lately there's been a huge chasm that we haven't been able to breach.

I get that he's a pretty conservative catholic. I get that he and I don't see eye-to-eye on social issues. I get that he and I cannot have conversations about things that are wholly important to me. I get that I hate baseball, and only follow football to root against the vikings. My dad's not too into basketball, unless TCU is playing. My dad's not really into a lot of sports unless TCU is playing.

He's a very quiet, reserved guy. I see him get passionate about sports, and that's about it. And the stars, but that takes some prodding. But sports? My dad lives for Football Sundays. When I was growing up, we went to Mass every Sunday. At eleven. And Mass ran for an hour. And sometimes kickoff was at noon sharp. And let me tell you, we could videotape it, but apparently there is no greater thrill than watching a kick-off live. I have fond memories of getting out of the pew to go to communion, and my dad hissing in my ear 'grab your coat, we're going straight to the car' and then the RACE home at 11:55 to get in the house by noon sharp. Lucky for him we lived so close to church.

Watching him watch the game was an event in and of itself. The loud loud yelling at bad calls, the occasional throwing of things. My dad got intense during his game, and damn it all, if the Packers lost, he'd be in a foul mood the rest of the day. When I went off to college, I followed Packer games specifically to see the final score. And if the Packers lost, I'd wait to call him. [As for baseball, my dad is DIE HARD Brewers fan. They go into a game expecting to lose, so the real surprise is when they pull off a win. Okay. Perhaps I'm not being fair. But it's no biggie to call him after they lose.] I never considered it strange to make that the basis of our communication. I still don't. I've mentioned before how we communicate on different planes. This is just one of those planes, one of the ones that I'm okay with. It's a place where we can meet, and stand together. It's a small plane, tiny, nearly insignificant.

And for me, even though we are distant right now, I'm pleased that there's a Packer's game tonight. 16 weeks and maybe my dad and I can figure out a way to close some of this chasm, one tiny plane at a time.