Best wishes to all Wolfpack fathers out there. As I expect with many of you, my blessed indoctrination began primarily with my father. Mom and Dad started taking me to games at C-F when I was an infant, and I missed a mere handful of home contests from infancy through high school. Dad was there with me in Reynolds when we beat UNC in 1983, the screams after Dean’s technical so loud that you couldn’t hear my baby sister (who was screaming at the top of her lungs – at least that’s what my eyes told me). The two of us took a trip on our own out to Nebraska to witness the fateful Murray State NCAAT game in 1988 (having your “follow the rules” Air Force veteran father pull you out of school for hoops was a big deal), during which the 14-year old version of me almost had a complete nervous breakdown. More than a decade later, I surprised him at Christmas with a Gator Bowl trip to watch us pound Notre Dame.
Living life as a Wolfpack fan is often a hard, unforgiving road, but it’s a heritage that I love and was proud to pass on to my 3 wonderful daughters. My heart glows with pride when I hear them talk of “stinky Carolina,” and when the mother of a classmate told me her son informed her that he might need to “convert” for one of my twins – from a Carolina to a State fan. Even if they still call most televised sports “football” and don’t watch every minute of TV games…they get it. We have 5 football LTRs for the family – and my Dad sits right in front of us. I make sure each kid gets to at least one basketball game every year. Being a State fan is a bit like fatherhood in general – not always easy, requiring a great deal of patience, perseverance, and unconditional love – but always worth it. It’s not a burden even when it’s hard.
On a lighter note, my first edict as President would be to move Fathers’ Day to the fall, so it coincides with football season. The networks would love this – everyone would show a doubleheader, with staggerred start times so that there is always football to watch as soon as the requisite big breakfast is over. And our wives and children would dutifully at least feign interest. Is everybody with me?