Words from a Reader

The “Writing Life Stories” e-mails I receive are such treasures. As soon as I see there is one in my inbox, I read it immediately. I look forward to them and never know how they will touch me. They can be interesting, informative, humorous, and/or touching.

Wednesday, September 16, 2020

College Football Season

September means football season, or did, at our house. From the time I married Barry Beall, I knew that Saturday afternoons in the fall meant he would be watching or listening to Georgia football.
One time on vacation in Tennessee, we had at a nice cabin in the mountains, but there was no television at that cabin. Barry could not believe that I would book a rental where he could not see the University of Georgia play football.

We drove to the nearest town where he bought rabbit ears in hopes he could get the TV in the living room to play. Seems it was only there to play DVDs. When it became obvious that we would not be seeing the University of Georgia play football that weekend, Barry and my brother-in-law, Stu, drove into town and found a bar where they could see the game.

At home, I knew that Saturday afternoons would always find Barry in his chair in front of the TV. As I moved about the house doing whatever I wanted to do, the sound of the crowd filled the space and the voice of the sports announcer rang loud and clear. Barry was with them, on the field, playing as hard as the uniformed boys on the turf. If the dogs lost, he was down for days. Unlike some fans, Barry never blamed the coach. He was a fan of Coach Dooley and later was a fan of the coach that followed him.

In the early years, I griped because I wanted him to do something with me on the weekend, not sit in front of a screen. I cared nothing about football and actually thought of it as a cruel sport. So many of those young men ended up hurt and even some died due to injuries at practice or in the game. But for a number of years, we rode up to Athens, GA with my brother Rex and his wife to sit in the stands and watch the game. That was really love on my part. In those days women dressed up for the football game in pantyhose, high heels and fall dresses that were far too warm for the summer-like weather. I hated going to those games. Not being a fan, I often had trouble following the plays. One day I fainted. I know that was embarrassing for my husband. We were on our way out when I passed out. He was sweet and kind and took care of me. I woke up with him holding me in his arms.

 Sanford Stadium in Athens, Georgia. I was often in that field of red sweating among thousands


 I liked Uga, the bulldog mascot, but felt real sympathy for him. He would get so hot on the sidelines his tongue practically dragged the ground as he panted. Eventually the dog was given a doghouse on wheels with a big bag of ice inside. I think the owners were afraid he would have a heart attack.

Among things that surprised me after my husband died, was how much I missed Saturday afternoons in the fall when our house was filled with football. I longed to hear the roar of the crowd, and the celebratory sounds coming from Barry's chair when his team won. Something I had taken for granted for 45 years was gone, and I had never thought I would miss it.

I told my friend, Karen Holmes about this and she used my words in this poem.

In Football Season, I Learn to Appreciate What I Have

Twenty-one geese just honked by, low to the gray lake.
My dogs normally ignore bird sounds, yet
rush to the window now, seem to believe
it’s their own species barking a foreign tongue.
As geese do, the honkers turn on a dime,
fly off the way they came.  I think of home,
the language of traffic, how I worry
whenever a siren screams on Peachtree,
say a quick prayer for the dying or injured flying
to Piedmont Hospital, and for the loved ones. My friend

Glenda, a widow for three years, says she misses
football sounds rolling through the house each weekend,
though she had fussed when her husband
wouldn’t turn it off.  Chris watches now.
I’m getting used to it again:  the crowd’s low thunder
under commentator prattle. Sometimes I watch a bit
or bring my laptop to the couch, look up
when the noise swells or Chris swears. Sometimes I get tired
of that TV rumbling most of Sunday after rumbling
most of Saturday, but I remember Glenda.  And I remember

my first husband’s snoring: I’d lie there telling myself
I’d miss it if he were gone, but sometimes I slept
in the other room. I remember Mother, who never spoke
of these things, hinting to me that she wished
she’d been more intimate with Father when she had the chance,
before the earthquake of his Parkinson’s. And farther back,
during my family’s three-week migration to Lake Huron,
I remember Mother mad at him for sticking to the radio’s static
as Ernie Harwell crackled the Detroit Tigers’ play-by-play,
my sisters and I picking at him to swim with us again,
carry us again on his shoulders across the blue deep
to that clear strip of aqua-- the sandbar--
where we’d splash, up to our knees in laughter.

                                ----- Karen Paul Holmes

Visit Karen's website and you can read or hear her read her poems online.

What would you miss in your life if it disappeared tomorrow?




9 comments:

  1. My childhood friend just lost her husband to cancer and it’s made me think of what my life would be like without my husband. I know I could go on but it would be hard and really lonely. That man fills all the spaces in my life. More’s the reason to enjoy every minute we can.

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  2. If I could not see, hear, smell nature's wonder I would be bereft.
    My partner is a television addict. If he is up, it is on. I cannot bear it. I wonder whether I would miss it if he was not here... And I doubt it.

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  3. I enjoy football but can take it or leave it. Fortunately my husband is the same. I would miss sitting in the living room in the evenings and watching the PBS Newshour with him if he were gone.

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  4. Glenda, my late husband Bill was the same way about the Colorado Rockies baseball team and the Denver Broncos football team. After he passed, the house seemed oddly quiet without the sounds of a game being broadcast on the radio or TV. But after eight years without him, I've gotten used to it. Like you, I've never been much of a sports fan. I'd like to think, though, that wherever Bill is, he's enjoying those games.

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  5. Marie, I felt the same about my husband. I still miss him and always will, I'm sure. But I had to reinvent myself as a single mature adult and find a new path to take. I feel like I have lived three lives - when I was a child of my parents - my years with my husband - and the third act, as Jane Fonda says, living alone as a senior adult.
    Enjoy every minute with you husband because we never know what tomorrow brings.

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  6. DJan, it is the little things like you mention here that stay with you and make you long for the good times you had. May he get strong and healthy again after his stroke and I hope your life will always be happy.

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  7. Abbie, I'm sure Bill is enjoying those games in the afterlife. I always think of Barry on Saturday afternoons and picture him watching his Dawgs.

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  8. I remember that cabin well, with the TV that couldn't receive TV stations. But we ultimately found a way! Football with Barry was a unique experience, even though I am a Tech grad, because he had so much insight into the game. And he's the only guy I ever knew to bring in 2 extra TV's on New Year's so as not to miss any Bowl game. I definitely miss the boy!

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  9. Stu, So glad you dropped in. I know you miss him. You both enjoyed doing things together and football games were part of it. I will always remember an afternoon when GA and GA Tech played each other. You watched in one room and Barry watched in another. Rival teams but you both had a great time.

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