A father brings his boy to a football game. Players struggle, the crowd roars and the home team sends everyone out of the stadium happy. Just a day, but a day that begins more than most.
The father thinks of contests to come, of Saturday afternoons in favorite restaurants, of campus walks through halls and hills meant for memory making. Perhaps, even, that father allows himself to consider the possibility that his son finds some way back to that place on his own, maybe even marching in that same band his father did.
Instead that boy grows up to play atop that field, donning the colors his father first showed him. As true with each generation as the last, they never fade. In fact the treasures taken from that antiquated stadium only grow with time, from playing catch with daddy just after the final horn sounds to catching passes between the whistles.
So imagine the surprise that little boy finds when--long after his days as a child or even a young man atop that field are spent--he finds his finest hour in that place waited until he could bring his own son back and be father himself.
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