Football Season

Football season. Hearing a game in the background meant Dad was home from fishing.

Mom cooking something he loved for dinner and me curled in my corner of the couch waiting to be noticed.

When I was young I just stayed still, watching. I watched my Dad more than the game-smoking and snarling at the television.

I learned all the colorful swears during football season.

When I was teenager I'd occasionally grace my parents with my presence on a Sunday afternoon. I'd watch the game from my corner, making comments peppered with things like, "I'll say he's got a tight end," hoping for shock. Never got more than a petulant glare.

As an adult, on my own with a television all mine on Sundays, I have invited Dad over for dinner. I turn the game on for him, usually find myself sitting curled in the corner of the couch with a book. Last year I really noticed how quiet it was.

The snarling Dad was gone, replaced by this gently snoring man sitting on the other end of the couch. I felt warm, comforted, like that feeling of security I remembered from when I was little.

Dad was home.