Disclaimer: These characters belong to S. Meyer; I just use them for my vivid imagination on the short bus.
All chapters are pre-written, so there are no edits done by a beta. All errors are my own.
I'm keeping things short and sweet, so thank you for all the kind words…
On we go…
-Leslie
February 24, 1997
Dear Abby Bean;
My precious daughter; how I love you.
I'm turning into one of those people who can't seem to sit still. I would like to blame it on nerves; unfortunately I'm unable to do such a thing. It's complete giddiness to be honest. We're so close to having you here with us, but I know that we need for you to wait until you're completely healthy and ready to come on your own, instead of wishing you would hurry and get here. Go ahead, laugh at your old man already, I know you want too.
It's kind of impossible to sit still at the moment, remember giddiness, but I'll try my best to sit still long enough to write the rest of this passage to you.
I want to share a secret with you in this next memory, one that your mother doesn't like for other females to know.
This story happens to take place during a special time for football fanatics. I'll let your brain try to figure that out for a second… Still giving time… … … Alright, so I'm sure if you haven't figured it out yet, you're begging for me to tell you already. It was during Super Bowl Sunday.
Like I said, this story wasn't privy to many, as your mother hated for other women to think she was manly. That she wasn't, believe me.
It doesn't matter if we came from money, it's still hard to come by Super Bowl tickets; money or not. I had concocted a fib, one where your mother thought we were taking a luxurious vacation on a sandy beach off the coast of Brazil. I had gotten lucky in my search for Super Bowl tickets and that was the very reason I concocted the fib.
I had experienced your mother's love of football firsthand as we spent each Sunday holed up in our apartment watching the sport. For as tiny as she was, she had a set of lungs a sailor would blush from. Very vocal, let me tell you.
So anyways, your mother had packed a suitcase filled with beach ware, only she didn't realize that I had switched said suitcase out at the last minute with one filled with warm clothing. I packed her favorite Sunday wear jersey's up, along with several pairs of jeans and sweats. Socks, gloves, and coats were stuffed inside with the rest.
I'll never forget the face she made when we boarded a plane destined to the Super Bowl's location. I honestly don't think it registered exactly why were headed in that direction, but I refused to ruin the surprise by telling her the exact reason we were going just yet.
We may have ended up with nosebleed seats during that game, but to see the abundant joy on your mother's face was something my heart still cherishes to this day. See, no matter how far away from the field we were, I was still able to wrap my arms around your mom and soak in the atmosphere around us that day.
I'm also pretty sure she scared the entire section surrounding us in those stands that day. She had cheered wildly for the underdogs, cursed the refs for what she deemed bad calls, and booed when those from the opposing team had scored a touchdown.
It didn't matter if the brisk wind took our breath away. I didn't matter if the underdogs didn't win.
What mattered was that in those nosebleed seats, I got to wrap myself around your mother with a snuggly blanket made for two. I got to experience a live sporting event with your mother; it was one of the happiest moments in my life.
I had never seen your mother so enthusiastic in all my life. All the elements of the day could never cloud such happiness.
Moral of the story: Weather should never determine one's happiness. Live for the enthusiastic moments in life, just as you would the calm, clear moments.
Love,
Your Proud Papa
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