It is ironic

It is ironic

What is the definition of irony? I will now tell you a story that ends with the true definition of irony.

Once upon a time, a man with no hair and a girl with a big mouth fell in love and got married. They were blessed with three adorable little boys. They all grew up in a house where Sundays were for watching football. One son loved the Vikings. One son loved the Rams. And one son loved the Panthers. We don’t know why they chose those teams, but it didn’t matter. Their father loved the Giants, but that isn’t really so relevant to this story. Sundays in this house were loud and festive. Their mother would joke that if she fell in the basement where her “womancave” was, no one would ever know, because everyone was too busy watching their teams upstairs.

The good weeks were when all of their teams won. The bad weeks were when only one of their teams won, and then the boys who had teams that lost would start fighting with the victorious son. As any mother knows, when you need to get your little angels ready for school on Monday morning and they are bickering about teams and players and bad plays, this doesn’t end well for anyone’s day. Especially the mom. But I was so grateful for my beautiful boys that I just let them go at it, with only rule being that no blood can be shed. Oh, and you need to be in school on time. This would go on every Sunday. One boy had the TV in the family room. One had the TV in the parents’ bedroom. And one had the TV in the kitchen. For the record, going to minyan was fit in to the schedule.

Those were lovely years. True brother bonding. We even took them to Vikings training camp in Minnesota. (Yes, I am the best mother). We took them to Rams training camp in St. Louis. (Yes, I am the best mother.). And we took them to Panthers training camp in Carolina. (No we didn’t. I am lying, so maybe I am not the best mother.) In any event, Sundays were for football.

But as the years went by, things started to change. Son #1 went to Israel. Then Son #2 went to Israel, and then, yes, Son #3 went off to Israel. And then it was just Husband #1 watching football, hoping that when they each came back from Israel, they would return to their Sunday ritual.

Well, this is where the irony comes in. Son #1, Son #2, and Son #3 no longer watch football. Apparently, it takes away from studying Torah. Can you believe that? Instead of wearing the Vikings hats or Rams hats we bought them, they only wear black hats! Can you believe it?

And then this past Sunday, I came home and Husband #1 says, “the Vikings are playing the Panthers!” I looked around the room and realized that no one was home to watch with us. It was me and Husband #1, sitting on the couch, watching the game.

And then I realized that I still don’t like football, so I got up and went to write this. Because that, ladies and gentleman, is true irony. A house where signed Viking memorabilia has been replaced with lots and lots of big gemarahs. A house where signed Rams memorabilia has been replaced with tehillim. And a house where Panthers memorabilia has still not been replaced, so we are still hopeful that, perhaps, one day, Husband #1 will be able to watch a game with one of his sons.

Irony. That is irony. A basement filled with hockey banners from every team and baseball banners from all of the stadiums we have been to now is home to Husband #1’s daf yomi sessions, and where the boys go to learn when they are home. Irony — paying for the football package when no one watches football anymore. Please don’t say, “Would you rather the alternative?” Husband #1 needs someone to watch football with. I gave him three sons. It shouldn’t have to be me.

Please let me know if any of you are interested in coming over to keep the poor guy company….

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is very happy to have a neighbor who likes Chanukah decorations. They make her smile every time she sees them.

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