It was billed the “Game of the Century.” Last Saturday 160,000 people were in the tiny town of Tuscaloosa, Alabama for it. My father and I were 2 of them. It was my first Alabama football game since childhood.
We didn’t have a whole lot of Jesus in my house as a kid… we had Bear Bryant. My Dad, descended from Methodist ministers, pretty much worships at the altar of Alabama football.
His great, great grandfather Isaac Self moved to Alabama in 1817. The University was established the same year the Trail of Tears began: 1831. Skip ahead 131 years and my Dad was a Phi Delta Theta on campus; his first-born, a son, was born the November day Alabama beat in-state rival Auburn for the 1964 National Championship. It’s a small miracle he wasn’t named Bama. Really.
After Blank Slating, I’ve been filling the white space of life with what’s important to me. It’s been made up of quiet moments in the woods near home with my sweet giant of a dog. With going to a football game with my Dad. With laughter on calls with old friends, with good simple food and rewarding work. I’ve got a related post up over at Gypsy Girls Guide. Check that site out, won’t you? The women there are amazing.
Oh. And “Roll Tide!” even though we lost. The whole experience was a win for me.