We went to a Superbowl party on, rather predictably, the day of the Superbowl, hosted by the parents of one of Mikey’s best friends in preschool. Naturally, we were the only same-sex couple there. When I came in, I asked, “So, who do we hope is going to win?”
The room full of people in Giants jerseys rolled their eyes collectively.
I asked the host whether he watched football with his son, Mikey’s friend, and he said that Brian didn’t have much interest. “But he will.”
I’m sure he will. Most boys figure out pretty young that the best way to bond with their fathers is to emulate their enthusiasm for their favorite sports. Mikey and Brian played together for the entirety of the party, until the crowd in the den cheered or groaned, and then they would both run in and join us with, “Yay!” or “Oh, rats!”
Needless to say, my level of involvement was about the same, going along with the crowd. Ian, who is not only gay but British, was right behind us.
The part where we all were able to connect as a group was over the Madonna halftime show and food.