Dad was a rookie running back for the Denver Broncos in 1977-1978 when they made their first Super Bowl. Though more than 40 years ago, every year the NFL playoffs bring out memories and nostalgia on social media.
Like this year, when a friend of our family’s shared a photo on Facebook of Dad and a teammate standing on the Broncos sideline. There isn’t anything especially remarkable about the photo.
Just two teammates in their Bronco orange jerseys. They’re old school blue helmets are cocked slightly upwards. Dad has his hands on his hips as some action plays out on the field. The screen reads this is his first 100 yard rushing game as a pro.
Dad died ten years ago last November. And when I saw the photo, I shared it with Mom. She immediately sent me one of those laughing but crying, too, emojis.
That was last Sunday. And ever since I’ve been thinking about this photo and about Mom and Dad’s “Bronco Days” and about all the stories I heard.
Now, I want to share one of those stories.
I was born in September 1982. Later that month the wives of the Bronco players held a baby shower for Mom to celebrate.
All of them gathered at one of their homes. They were eating and drinking and carrying on. Mom had me in a carrier next to her while she was busy opening gifts.
I started to cry and wouldn’t stop.
So Cindy -- who is still married today to the player standing with Dad in the photo -- kindly offered to help.
“Thank you,” Mom said.
Cindy scooped me from the carrier. Held me close. And left the room.
A short time later she brought me back. I was quiet and content and resting.
She handed me to Mom and whispered something in Mom’s ear. Mom recoiled a half-step and shot Cindy a confused, if slightly curious look.
“Uhm. Okay. Sure. Thank you,” Mom said and returned her attention to the shower.
That was in 1982.
Before Dad died in 2010, he asked that we spread his ashes at the three stadiums where he played: Harmon Stadium in Fremont, Ohio; The Big House in Ann Arbor, Michigan; and Mile High in Denver.
So, thirty-plus years after the baby shower, my family and I were in Denver. On Sunday we would spread his ashes on the site of old Mile High Stadium before a Broncos game.
And on Saturday night we had a chance to gather with old teammates and friends at a downtown Denver bar -- some mom hadn’t seen since she left Denver in the early 80’s.
Cindy and her husband were there, too.
After a few drinks, Cindy, Mom, and I started chatting separately from the group.
“Did I……” Cindy started and stopped. “Does he know….” she looked at Mom. “Do you know about....” she looked at me.
I tilted my head and let a wide smile spread across my face. The three of us started to laugh. Cindy shook her head smiling.
“Oh, I have heard the story,” I finally said with a laugh big enough to cover the bar.
We clinked our drinks together. Cheersed the moment. And the memory.
Her husband leaned in to ask what we were laughing about.
“Oh,” Cindy started. “We were just reminiscing about the time Kelly here was a newborn and I breastfed him at Tracy’s baby shower.”
Her husband spit his beer across the table.
Friends- Stories aren’t always what we expect. But always expect a story.
We love you. And we’ll see you when we see you.
A Real NFL Memory