I attended the Patriots game on Sunday. The weather was spectacular, the pregame tailgate menu was superb, and most important, the Patriots won.
It was the first game in more than a month for me. I missed both home games in October thanks to my book tour and a wedding.
I was happy to return to Gillette Stadium on Sunday. I love attending Patriots games. When I was young, I made a list of life goals, and one of them was to become a New England Patriots season ticket holder.
I’ve been dreaming about these Sunday afternoons (and occasional Monday nights) for many years.
While attending these games often means the loss of an entire Sunday, there are only eight home games a season (six for me this year), so it isn’t too big a burden.
Except now I have a wife and a daughter and a son who inexplicably continue to do fun and cute and memorable things while I am away at the game. Rather than placing themselves in suspended animation or parking themselves on the couch, anxiously awaiting my arrival, they do stuff that I want to do, too. They continue to exist, and I find part of me wanting to exist alongside them.
I miss them, damn it. It’s so annoying.
Five years ago a day spent at the Patriots game was pure bliss for me.
Now I miss stuff like this, making the games slightly bittersweet.