Image courtesy of vidular

Some of my fondest memories with my dad involved hot pretzels and a cold bench seat.

Come fall, my dad and I would watch every home game that our local college football team had to offer.  On game day he’d show up at my door like a little kid waiting for his parents to awake on Christmas morning.  He’d try and act all serious as he’d talk about how we ‘needed to get going’.  And yet he couldn’t hide his childish grin, even behind his red mustache. Read more »