The plan was to attend the Patriots game on Sunday with Elysha, but when I awoke that morning, the forecast called for temperatures in the low 50s and a change of rain throughout the day.
Not exactly the kind of weather Elysha envisions when attending a Patriots game.
So, as the sun rose, I crept into the bedroom to tell her that if she wanted to bail, I would understand.
She did.
So I invited Charlie to join me, and surprisingly, he waffled. He attended his first regular-season game in September and loved it, but he complained last weekend when I attended the game with a friend instead of him.
I thought he’d be ready to go.
But the weather gave him pause, too, as did the prospect of four hours in the car and long walks across parking lots and up endless ramps when we could instead watch the game from the comfort of our home.
Eventually, he said, “I don’t know. What should we do?”
My answer was immediate:
“We go.”
Eight hours later, after watching our rookie quarterback show promise in an otherwise disappointing game, we climbed back into the car for the drive home. As I started the engine, Charlie said, “That was fun,” and he meant it.
Despite the loss and the less-than-ideal weather, we had a lot of fun together.
Even when your team loses badly, and the sun doesn’t shine, a day spent together is still fun.
I knew it would be.
I told Charlie:
This is why we went to the game today. Many people—maybe most people—choose the easier path. They choose comfort over challenge. They choose the couch over the plastic seats of section 333, row 15, seats 15 and 16 in Gillette Stadium. They choose the handful of steps required to walk into the living room instead of the 100-mile drive and three miles of walking required to see the game in person.
But who had more fun?
Who will remember this day a year from now?
Did anyone watching from home laugh as much as we did today?
Did anyone shout and cheer and jump up and down and high-five strangers and hug as much as we did today?
I told Charlie:
You rarely regret doing a thing, even when that thing requires effort and sacrifice.
You often — maybe always — regret not doing a thing.
I warned Charlie:
Never let effort, struggle, and sacrifice stand in the way of being out in the world, experiencing life, and doing things. When we do things, we make memories. When we do things, we allow the universe to open up and introduce us to new and wonderful things.
I think he understood, too. After a moment, he said, “I guess you never really remember the time you spent on the couch.”
“Exactly,” I said.
It was one of those rare moments as a father when I felt I had done my job perfectly.
And a hell of a lot better than the Patriots’ offensive line.
