Saturday night. I was on the road to my mom's house at 5:30 this morning, spent the morning packing boxes at my mom's old house, took stuff to my mom's new house, then got back to Denver about 4:30. I know a similar day is waiting on Sunday. Even so, I contemplate getting back in the car and making a 45 minute drive west to Boulder to the state basketball championship. My boys' former high school is playing and I'd love to see the game.
Besides, state basketball is kind of a tradition in our family. We've been going since the boys were in third or fourth grade. When they were little they would sit wide eyed, imagining themselves as high school basketball stars, breaking only long enough to beg money for nachos and dipping dots. As the boys got older, they moved to riding with me, but hanging out with their friends. The last couple of years the boys have gone with their friends and I've gone with mine, and watched them from afar. Nevertheless, we've all been at the game. I can hardly imagine not being there.
I go back and forth trying to decide whether I should go to the game. I peruse the paper and discover that the game is being televised, so I decide to go that route instead. I call son #2 to tell him that the game is on and he asks me to text him after every quarter with the score.
I text after the first two minutes. The other team is up 6 points. After a quarter the game is tied. At halftime we are up by 5. After three quarters we are up by 13. Ultimately we win by 20. The East Angels are state champions!
I text my son with the final score.
State basketball is a tradition in our family.