Send In The Clowns

A funny thing happened on the way to this column. Our family’s weekly trip to Pueblo happened. It was Pueblo CSU against the Colorado School of Mines football game and Pink-Out week.

We traveled as a pack of five, dressed in pink and packed like sardines in a small silver Subaru. Pink Pom-Poms, Pink tied-dye shirts, pink hoodies, pink glasses, pink ball caps, pink scarves and pink carnival beads.

As we came out of the house my daughter yelled, “Go back and get your pink cowboy hat, if there was ever a day to wear it, today is the day!” The only place for my pink cowboy hat with the sparkles was on my head. I could either wear it or sit on it. The circus had come to town and we were the circus clowns in the small car.

The car was steaming with a festive mood, fat foods and football talk. We’ve scaled down to one overnighter each, one goody bag for the family, stadium blankets and seats. Our son-in-law drove, our daughter sat next to him in the front seat, our other daughter sat in the middle of the backseat. Sweet Al on the left side and me on the right. We know our place in the car.

Sweet Al thumbed through his hunting magazines, our daughter in the front seat looked at her planner, our youngest daughter played games on her Kindle and I took a couple of my Greek books to study for the five-hour drive each way.

We arrived at the game with great anticipation. The stands were filled with fans in pink. The helicopter flew overhead, and landed on the football field, A little lady in pink, a cancer survivor, stepped onto the field carrying the game ball. She presented it to the referee and was handed a large bundle of long stem red roses. She waved to the crowd and the crowd waved back.

CSU Pueblo is still on a winning streak. The family has gotten to know the players, their numbers and their positions on the field. Pink and more pink. It was Disneyland, the happiest place on the planet.

The team was facing one of their toughest opponents, Colorado School of Mines. The man behind us yelled, “Take it to the House.” We yelled back, “To the House.” Then the boom, boom, boom song came on again, We took the game to the house and won 49 to 21.

We’ve started a little tradition. After the game the family takes our grandson and three or four of his football friends out for dinner. They miss their families and they join our family. It’s a way to get to know them, and do something special for our Grandson. We bask in the game, enjoy the big 6’6” 300 pound guys around us, and talk more football.

My Sweet Al doesn’t speak up very often. It was an urgent moment for him. He said, “We need to pray.” He bowed his head and began to pray. He prayed and prayed. In the middle of the prayer he was ramping up for the Pink-Out Breast Cancer Awareness Program. He prayed for a cure for Cancer survivors.

The football players were ramping up with hunger pangs and I was thinking what is Al doing? He’s going on and on about Breast Cancer and about all the women he knew who has suffered. Then he started to pray for all the women in his family that none of us would suffer from cancer.

A winded preacher would be pleased if he could have prayed that prayer, but our food was getting cold. I looked up to see all the football players’ eyes looking at My Sweet Al in disbelief like he’d gone mad.  He must have seen too much pink or he had boobies on his mind.

Back in the car on the way home, we hadn’t stopped talking football since we stepped into the car the morning before. I switched the conversation to talk about one of my articles. I said innocently, “These articles come around so quickly, I’m always thinking about the next article.  You’d think it’s all about me, but—”

My daughter Allison said, “Are you kidding? Mother, it’s always about you.” Four heads bobbed in agreement!

“No, it’s not. It’s not always about me. It’s been about football for two days.” Then I said, “When I’m dead and gone, at my funeral —”

She said, “We’ll say enough about her….”

Snorts of laughter roared through the car. I couldn’t believe my ears. I came back with a little poor-me. “At my funeral you’ll probably use it as an opportunity to raise money for the Booster Club. You’ll sell concessions while my friends are saying nice things about me. Then you’ll be back standing in line pretending to be bereaved over your loved one’s death.”

Then my son-in- law stated in his dry sense of humor, “Your artwork will go for million after you’re dead, that’s the way it always works, like Van Gogh. How about donating it to the Booster’s Club.”

I puffed up and the little silver sardine can, packed with pink sardines became even smaller. The clowns went into funny mode, unable to stop laughing and building the scenario of my funeral. There’s always a shred of truth behind all those comments. Humor takes away the sharp piercing as the knife goes in.

I was telling my friend about the weekend and the conversation. I said to her, “I don’t think it’s always about me. Do you?”

There was total silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, she said, “I wished I could be a fly in the car.”

“If you were a fly in the car, you’d be pasted to the windshield or have to ride on my pink hat on my head. It’s the only place you’d fit.”

Final Brushstroke!  The family circus had gone to town and the clowns were in a rare mood. We all love what we love. My daughter said she did love that pink cowboy hat on me. When the family is together it’s always about football and apparently it’s always about me or enough about her.