Guilt

Walked outside to get Carol's paper this morning.

It was 8 degrees with a howling wind. I gotta believe the wind chill was 3,188 degrees below.

In the three minutes it took to walk out and back, my cheeks froze in a grotesque parody of a smile.

In Glendale Arizona it is 54 degrees with a projected high today of 65. That's not as warm as I expected but it is light years away from where New England is at.

Glendale Arizona is where I am supposed to be.

It is warm. THE PATS are playing in the Super Bowl.

Why wouldn't I be there?

I have to admit I am disappointed with my sons.

In October they marshaled their considerable financial resources to send me to the second to last Allman Brothers concert ever to be held in the history of the world - in NYC.

Interestingly enough, Keith and Craig's incomes are exactly the same, even though they toil in completely different industries.

They each earn $14 million annually.

What a magnificent gift, what an incredible trip that was. Me and my longest standing friend in my life, Mr. Phil Camerlengo, meeting up in New York City to dig on the band that has kept us young and interesting for 45 years.

Amazing.

I'm sure my sons figured they had raised the bar as high as it could go. That they had done something for me that I could appreciate deeply, and would never forget for the rest of my days on earth.

Wrong.

They established a base from which to improve upon.

I knew THE PATS were going back to the Super Bowl. I was secure in my gut feeling. Even during the Baltimore game my gut calmed me into football serenity.

When THE PATS destroyed the colts, I sat back with a smug smile, a cold beer, a short whiskey and an excited air of expectancy, waiting for the phone to ring.

I knew it would not ring that night. You gotta absorb the reality, adjust your focus to championship levels and allow the excitement to subside into every day survival mode for two weeks.

Besides there are logistics. You gotta do research, you gotta plan ahead, you gotta coordinate and communicate, you gotta free up funds.

It takes time.

A few days later I became concerned. There was no phone call.

I had spent the intervening time rehearsing the feigned excitement I would project over the phone.

A conference call. "Dad - it's Keith and Craig. Guess what? We got you two tickets to Glendale. You and Mom are going to the Super Bowl."

"What? What are you talking about? Are you serious? What a surprise." As I smiled in smug satisfaction and expectation realized.

Today is the day before the Super Bowl. Still no call.

I just went to Stub Hub. There are 181 tickets left priced from $10,000.

I don't know what the problem is. $10,000 is not even one week's paycheck for either of my sons. I don't think $20,000 is to dear a price to pay to purchase happiness for their frail and tired and aging parents.

Apparently they have become selfish.

That's all right. It is what it is.

We'll go to Keith's house tomorrow to watch the game. We'll pretend to be enjoying ourselves.

However, I am going to sneak unapproved snacks to Cooper and Jack at every opportunity. I have already arranged for a friend of questionable character to raid Craig's house to appropriate his infamous shoe collection.

I am not a father to be messed with.

I look forward to 2015 and enjoying the Bruins in the Stanley Cup finals, the Sox in the World Series, tennis at Wimbledon, golf at the U.S. Open, a couple of Mumford & Sons concerts, a couple of Ray LaMontagne concerts, a nationwide blues tour, and front row seats to The Stones  and U2 if the come around.

Courtesy of my loving and respectful sons.

Guilt is a powerful motivator. Really it can be applied as a synonym for love.

I really love my sons.