I have a confession...

I live in Louisiana - the deep South - the land of football and gumbo. My daddy played high school football. He was, by far, not the biggest player on the team, but he was fierce and strong enough that he once broke an opposing player's leg during a game. My older brother played football in junior high, although he chose not to play in high school. I grew up knowing that every Sunday afternoon, as soon as we got home from church, we would eat lunch and then my family would park themselves in front of the television and watch football games for the rest of the day.

I chose to play the saxophone and was in the marching band in high school. That means that, for four years, I went to every single football game that the Jonesboro-Hodge Tigers played in. I loved Fridays, the pep rally in the afternoon, the anticipation of the coming game, the road trip to away games, and for home games, the march from the band hall down to the football stadium. To this day, the sound of a marching band's drum cadence makes my heart race. One of the big high school's in the town where I now live is only a quarter-mile from our house and on clear, cold Friday nights, it sounds like the band is playing in our backyard.

My husband never got to play football because he went to a high school that didn't have a team. But he is a die-hard football fan. He loves to watch football and gets so excited that he often jumps from his seat, yelling in victory or anguish. Since we're from Louisiana, he is a lifelong New Orleans Saints fan. He says he can remember getting harrassed in school for wearing a Saints jacket, but he never minded. The Saints, until this season, had a long history of...let's just say, not being the best team in the league. But Michael was a Saints fan when being a Saints fan wasn't cool. Football games are sacred in this house.

So what's my confession?

I hate football.

I mean, I really don't like it.

While the rest of my family watched football games on Sundays, I was usually in my room with a book or my Barbie dolls.

I never went to any of my brother's junior high games.

Yes, I went to every game in high school, but I never watched a single game. I just sat in the bleachers and talked to my bandmates, and stood up with everybody else whenever our band director would announce, "Get up 'Eye of the Tiger!'" I loved the road trips because my friend Craig and I would laugh and play his jam box all the way to the game and back. I loved the march down the stadium because...well, it was cool.

Football is sacred in our house now - which means that I keep the kids quiet and in another part of the house while Michael watches the games.

We had a Super Bowl party here once. It was even my idea. I stayed in the kitchen and cooked and kept the food coming for everyone else. I went to an LSU game once with a group of friends from Sunday School and I cannot for the life of me, remember a single thing about that game except the uphill trek to our nosebleed-section seats.

I have one friend who is a total football freak. She and her husband go to every home football game of our alma mater. They go to every home game of the university from which her husband and I graduated and where he now works. They watch football on t.v. and have crawfish boils and parties. She knows everything there is to know about the game of football.

I know nothing.

I recently decided that I need to learn about the game because it is very likely that our son will play football. I try to ask my husband questions, but I have learned pretty quickly that during a game is not the time to ask such questions.

It's really fine with me. I'll go to my son's games, watch every minute...and cheer when my husband does!