SUPERBOWL TRADITION

Every year at Superbowl time I rerun this column - I'll be sure to get a call from all of them, even though they are most likely starting their own traditions.....



Part of getting divorced is helping your children, no matter how old they are, understand certain things. That you are not divorcing them, just their father. That their father and you will always love them, no matter who else they may marry.

That their childhood wasn't a mistake, and that they can take those memories with them where ever they go.

Such is the memories of their childhood and the Superbowl.

I was never a football fan; my interest was more towards baseball and hockey.

But football was the rule of the house when they were kids. Football season was a time where no one got to watch cartoons, no body could come over to play; football was on.

Sundays were spent going to church, and then home to either play catch in the backyard, rake some leaves or shovel some snow, whatever the season brought.

But the Superbowl Sunday was different.

The Superbowl was a party, and even though we had no money, we always splurged for the Superbowl.

The splurge was filet mignon steak, a baked potato, and creamed corn.

And they got to eat on the floor in the living room, in front of the t.v.

Something so forgeign to them, it was my cardinal rule that no one ate in front of the t.v., and there certainly was no food allowed in the living room.

It started when they could barely chew the steaks themselves. What a great surprise, they were eating in the living room! It was the most exciting thing they had ever heard of, and on the floor yet!! A blanket laid on the floor like a picnic, it became a tradition they looked forward to every year.

All grown up now and on their own, I thought about that today as I sat watching the ice melt on the lake. I wondered if they remembered.

They did.

The son in the Navy called from the ship "Got your steak ma?" and I almost burst into tears.

The son in Colorado called from his townhouse "Eatin' some baked potato today ma, how about you?"

The son and daughter who live in the city were partying, and I can only hope they can afford to eat a steak now and then.

Just like back then.

I can still picture in my mind's eye the look on their faces that first Superbowl afternoon.

Spread in a circle on the floor, they held their dishes up as I handed out the slivers of filet mignon, plopped a small baked potato wrapped in tin foil on their plate, and let them scoop their own creamed corn onto their dish.

"Are we rich, Mom?" my warrior daughter asked with all the awe of Cinderella being told she was really a princess.

I looked around at the shiny faces, and my heart was filled with love. This was one of those moments you keep close to you for when you need them. It's what helps you get through the night when all is confused, and keeps you from killing them when they try to push their limits.

"Yeah, ma are we rich?" Navy Boy asked.

I looked at them in their hand-me-down jeans and flannel shirts, worn thin in the arms but still wearable. My quiet son smiling softly as he looked at the design of the tin foil and wondering if he could draw that. The baby in her pink sweat suit with a Care Bear applique on the front, an outfit I had picked up at a garage sale for 50 cents.

"Today we are" I said, as I turned my face so they didn't see the tears.

Today we are.

Have a steak and a baked potato on me.

Eat in the livingroom on the floor.

Make your own traditions, for they will remember them when they need them.

Happy SuperBowl!