Powder Puff

Another Love Letter to Liza

They say that our ability to remember grows dim with age.  They are both right and wrong.  For example, my short-term memory is impaired – cannot recall what I had for breakfast this morning or where I left my glasses.  However, my long-term memory is like crystal; because I can clearly see your animated face and hear your eager voice on one of our first dates more than fifty-four years ago.  You told me how you caught the winning touchdown pass in the annual Arcadia High School Powder Puff Football Classic, leading the junior girls to victory over the senior girls for the first time in school history.  You had worn the number 37.

The thought of you streaking down the sidelines still lasts in my imagination.  Oh, the frisson that rippled down my spine that I might be falling in love with this incredibly smart and gorgeous girl who just might like sports generally and football in particular!  And indeed, we have shared many great sports moments.  This makes me lucky and grateful.

I love it when you beat me to the sports page and store up trivia.  You love it when I ask you a multiple-choice sports question, and you get it in one.  I love it when you learn the names of the QB’s of all thirty-two pro football teams, and you love it when I quiz you and you get a perfect score.  I love it when you curl up beside me to watch a football game or a Dodger game or a golf match – the same sports you enjoyed watching with your dad.  You love it when I get up to fetch my own Polish dog and a cold one, because you love that I never expect you to serve me food while watching TV like a couch-potato. 

Of course, there have been some occasions when I abused the privilege.  Like the time I was glutting on college football Saturday and was vaguely aware that you were trying to break through my football fixation.  You were leaning on the entertainment center; and when you partially blocked my view of the TV, I noticed that you were wearing one of my T-shirts, on which you had printed 37 in huge black letters with a jumbo marker.

Me     “What, Liza?”

You     “I figured if I want your attention, I need a shirt with a number on it.”

Ouch!  That hurt!  But I loved you even more, because you did not murmur or complain or grumble or dispute.  You poked fun at your husband instead.  That was the day I went online to NFLSHOP and ordered your birthday present.  You loved it when you unwrapped your gift of an authentic RAMS jersey with 37 on the front and your name on the back, and I loved it when you immediately put it on. 

You have been an enthusiastic sports fan with me, and a big grin spreads across my face when I think of a defining moment in our shared sports-watching history.  It was a Sunday afternoon in the fall, and I was channel-surfing from the World Series to the golf Players Championship to pro football.  You hate that part, the channel surfing.  You have never wanted to mix sports watching with multi-tasking.  Finally, you had enough.  You poked me in the ribs and said these words which have warmed my heart and have made me the envy of football fanatic husbands everywhere.

You     “Please turn back to the football game and LEAVE IT THERE!”      

What do I love about you, Liza?  Just about everything, but what I especially appreciate today is that you have lovingly chosen to take an interest in something that interests me.  With all due respect for Lou Gehrig, I am the luckiest guy in the world.

Love you!

Love, Me!