What’s your fondest memory of childhood?
I have so many great ones to choose from, it’s hard to pick just one.
There were all the family vacations to Moab, UT to ride the White Rim Trail over several days.
We went to Disneyland/world once each, and did the whole tourist thing.
And then there were lazy Sundays doing nothing much beyond watching the Denver Broncos with dad.
My dad taught me to love football. If you’d like to know about my prowess on the field, you’d have to ask Anthony Poponi or The Dave Noir (we played a few years of flag football together, and we were all pretty rusty. Actually, “rusty” implies that skill has decreased with time. Truth be told, we started rusty.) No, while I enjoyed playing football, I’ve come to realize that I’m much better at watching it.
I’ve always been a hometown fan. No matter the odds, you could find me pulling for the Broncos. And for a lot of my childhood, this taught me disappointment, then acceptance.
Until the season of 1997, when the Broncos won their first Superbowl (XXXII) in franchise history. The John Elway era ended with a repeat Superbowl win (XXXIII) in the season of 1998. And it was good.
What followed Elway’s retirement was a sad, winless post-season drought. On the rare occasion that the Orange Crush would make it to the playoffs, they’d likely be tossed within the first round. Opportunities were missed. My dad and I would watch, despondent from the couch, hopes high but expectations low.
After a series of greasy, could be plumber, cry-baby, (somehow fitting Orton in here), no prayer quarterbacks, my team has landed the prettiest girl at the dance. P.F.M. And he’s taking us to the Superbowl this Sunday. The Broncos are a new team with P.F.M. at the helm. While currently living in Arizona, I don’t have the opportunity to watch many games with my dad. But, without fail, we always talk about the most recent game over the phone.
A package addressed to me arrived on the doorstep yesterday. I eagerly took it inside and cut it open. This is what I saw:
That’s my Broncos hat from childhood. My initials and home phone number (!) have all but faded away, written on the inside with felt tip marker. This thing is from when I was single digits years old! And it came with a Dales Pale Ale stuffed inside it! And a chocolate bar!
I know the title of this post says my dad is cooler than your dad. Sorry if that hurt your feelings (or your dad’s feelings.) Your dad is probably pretty cool as well. But did your dad find your favorite childhood hat in the attic and send it to you since your team is back in the Superbowl? Did he stuff it with your favorite beer?!
My dad is super cool. We aren’t able to watch the game together this Sunday, but we’ll definitely talk about it over the phone.