As my family sat down to watch the Super Bowl, my 5-year-old daughter, Anna, became very excited because she’d heard all about the game in kindergarten. But when I flipped on the TV, Anna’s face fell. “Where are the giants?” she asked. I explained to her that the giants were the team in white. “Those aren’t giants,” she complained. “They are just regular men!”
Kara Farrell / Walpole
Third and Wrong
Leaving my mother’s care facility a few days before the Super Bowl, I overheard the receptionist talking to a colleague. “I’ll be so upset if he can’t play,” she said. Assuming, of course, she was speaking about Rob Gronkowski, I said something like, “Yes, we’ll all be heartbroken.” They looked at me as if I were from another planet. “I was talking about my grandson,” she said. “He hurt his shoulder and might not be able to play with his basketball team.” Just my luck to find the only two people in Boston not obsessed with the Pats.
