On February 2 of this year, I was blessed by becoming a daddy for the first time.
When my little boy was born, I was faced with a most interesting dilemma. No, name was already picked out. Yes, he already had a place to live. Yes, we were already married.
What truly plagued me, was this: what hockey team should my new baby root for?
Normally, not a big issue, you might think: let the little bugger root for whomever he chooses. Ahhhh, herein lies the rub.
I have been, and unfortunately for me likely always will be, a Philadelphia Flyers fan.
Ok, you say, get on with it, why doesn't he root for the Flyers? Well, I am 36 years years old and have reflections of a wonderful childhood. One of my earliest memories of the Flyers is swearing I heard my own father's distinctive whistling on the radio as the Flyers won their first Cup in '74, although everyone says I'm nuts that there is no way I could remember that from when I was 4 - I swear I heard it.
I also remember the parades in '74 and '75, followed by the Phillies parade in '80 and the Sixers parade in '83.
For the 1st 12 years of my life I was proud to be a Philly fan.
Then, the suffering began.
Finally, in 2004, I got married and moved to Florida, just south of Tampa. Horrible baseball team, but the Lightning and Bucs each won championships within the decade, whereas my Philly teams languished from being annual bridesmaids, to being invited to the wedding, to being left off the guest list entirely, to being wedding crashers, to just deciding to not even show up, drunken bastards.
So, do I deprive my child of the happy memories that I had growing up by having a WINNING team to root for? The innocence of youth is so wonderful and the new baby has truly changed my life. Being an accomplished attorney, husband, son, businessman, all pales in comparison to just being a good dad.
When I watched the Red Sox win the World Series for the first time in a zillion years, I saw fans literally crying their eyes out and I imagined sons looking at their fathers in tears, the fathers in turn looking at their fathers in tears, and maybe even the grandfather looking at the great-grandfather in tears as well. I couldn't help but think, did the decades long suffering actually become so ingrained in these people's actual personas that they wouldn't actually be who they were without the suffering and losing, year after year, after bloody stinking year? Then I said to myself, "Is that suffering now a part of who I am?"
Then another part of me, said "Get back to work and stop putting so much weight on a damned sports team!"
So, I did get back to work and I came to a decision:
The son should not be cursed for the sins of the father.
No, it isn't his fault that I bleed orange and black and that my team manages to disappoint me time and time again. He should have the opportunity to have his childhood magical, with sweet memories and even sweeter victory parades. So, little Tre man, choose your teams wisely and enjoy the youth that ends up being all too short. Daddy loves you no matter who you choose to root for.
Do what you want with the personalized Flyers jersey Daddy bought you for Christmas, tuck it away with your little Philadelphia Flyers pillow and your little Flyers hockey stick that the team sent you for your birth, pet your dogs when they wear their little Flyer pet jerseys that Daddy spent $29.99 each for on shop.nhl.com, hug Daddy in his own Flyers team jersey from each of the four decades that he owns, sit with me as we watch the Flyers away feed that we paid $140.00 for on the Center Ice Package, and look into my eyes and tell me who your favorite team is.
If your blood just so happens to bleed orange and black too, well, what else could we expect? My blood runs through you literally and when the suffering finally ends, we'll fly up for the parade together with Grandpop too. It is after all, who we are.
(Please, oh please God, just don't let him root for the Devils or the Rangers...)
(c) 2007 - "Oh snap! You've just been sued by The Legal Beagle!"
