Uh oh ... football is starting ...
It is preseason - the first game - and I am turning to the page because I want to pitch a fit and demand a Netflix movie instead, or better yet, the Olympics.
But I won't, because the one thing you learn when you marry later in life is the art of compromise, and to be honest, I also sort of like football ... sometimes.
When Bill and I first met, I knew he loved football, but because we only dated on weekends and rarely on Sundays, I didn't really understand how much. It wasn't until our first real football season together that I realized that loving football meant watching Thursday night, Saturday, Sunday AND Monday night - every week.
At first, I was interested. It was new. I had never really learned how the game worked, and I enjoyed having my new husband teach me. I discovered that I could get really excited about a close game. I liked to cheer and scream and boo and generally express myself, and I liked that for the most part, my husband enjoyed my enthusiasm.
I warmed up to the players, too. Brette Favre - an underdog, carrying the Vikings almost to the Super Bowl. Peyton and Eli Manning - great human interest stories, helping me create sentimentality for the game. McNabb - a villain who showed just a tad too much arrogance in one game and earned a stubborn streak of disapproval lasting four seasons.
After a season of two to four days a week for five to six months, however, I reduced my viewing to a few select portions of the season. Clemson or Carolina games are a must with a family evenly split and equally passionate for both teams in this historical state rivalry. NFL football interests me late in the season when the final teams approach the Super Bowl.
The rest of the time, I turn to my writing pages or a book or Netflix on my laptop screen, and I don't complain. As I've said, compromise is important, and Bill doesn't complain (not loudly anyway) when I tune into American Idol, The Bachelorette, or So You Think You Can Dance. This is one of the easier passages we have navigated in this mid-life marriage we are creating.
Sometimes I just watch my husband as he watches football, and I learn even more of the vast continuum of activity that occurs beneath his seemingly unflappable exterior. He is quiet. He doesn't generally cheer. He just watches, and when a catch is really close or a tackle just barely missed, he turns his head just so or presses his hand deeply into his thigh while his shoulders rise slightly, and I know in these moments that he is every bit as passionate as I am.
I marvel at this, at the differences in our personalities, and I am grateful for the many ways these differences show themselves and for how we learn together to accept rather than resolve them - a very important distinction.
