Happy Super Bowl Sunday, Little One.
Today I am reminded of the only Super Bowl I ever attended. I would love to say that I live an extravagant life, and that I was able to afford tickets. This is not true. I was able to get into this Super Bowl by using my body. I worked as a security guard.
I am not a large guy. Some may describe my body type as "scrawny." They would be both cruel and correct. In order to fully convey my scrawniness, I must refer to a recent film. In the movie Captain America, the young Captain is initially unable to join the military on account of his small stature. They make fun of his body type for a third of the movie, before he gets transformed by a miraculous science experiment. That body is my body; a hairless, caved-in masterpiece. I still believe that I deserve royalties, since they seemed to have taken my torso and placed that man's beautiful face on it. I just sat in that theater and listened as the crowd laughed at my frame. It was like a high school locker room without the smell. Except this time, I was able to participate in the laughing and act like a cool jock. "Ha ha, that guy's body looks so abnormal, and completely unlike mine! Ha ha ha!"
My body size lends me no favors in regard to perceived toughness. Still, I have known several small guys that appear formidable. I am not them. I could never be intimidating, unless I'm holding a tool that I don't know how to use. Only then can I appear dangerous. And even then, I am merely a danger to myself and the small tree house I am attempting to construct. I had very few tools and gadgets when I was tasked with guarding the sacred Bowl. The powers that be would have never entrusted me with a taser, or handcuffs, or a pencil. Pencils are way too sharp.
Because of my graduate degrees, wealth of experience, and unparallelled work ethic, I was given the task of wanding rich people at the metal-detector laden entrances. I also had to examine bags and wallets to make sure that people were not carrying weapons into the stadium. Former player Marcus Allen came through my metal detector, and I got to check his wallet. He was clean.
Once inside the stadium, I was tasked with standing at the top of an aisle and scanning the stands in search of potential danger. I felt like Batman. I searched the crowds for misdeeds and treachery, but all was calm. Some might say that I got lucky, since other sections were reportedly quite rowdy. I like to think that the football fans were aware they were being watched. They sensed my pursuit of justice. They respected my authority.
I shall expect the same from you, little baby. You will know that I keep a keen eye on your baby monitor at all times, ready to intervene and teach you the ways of truth. I will be the Security Guard of your childhood. I may not be intimidating, but I have proven to be effective.
Stories and Letters
This Dad Blog was originally written as a collection of letters to my child, chronicling my awesomeness and warning of the chaos to come. Now that children reside in my home, it also includes essays on successes, failures, and lessons learned... and humiliating pictures... as well as rants, jokes, short stories and random videos. Read stuff!
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