10/21/01

This is my first time using this thing, and I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to start. I received this journal when I was five, but I just found it sitting in my junk drawer today, ten years later. I feel guilty for never using it, as it was a gift from my father.

My father's name is Bill Andersen Sr. and if you are wondering, yes I am the Jr. Ever since I was born, I was tagged as the “miracle child”. No, my birth was not anything close to a miracle; it has to do more with the day I was born. My family is from Chicago and there's only one thing that Chicagoans consider a miracle: the Bears. Yes, the NFL team. They won the Super Bowl on the day I was born, and fifteen years later, it’s still the only Super Bowl they’ve ever won. I always thought it was just a cool coincidence but everyone around me, including my father, seems to believe that it makes me special somehow. I don’t want to be special, and I don’t think I am special. To be honest, I couldn’t care less about the Bears. I believe my father has noticed this lack of passion, which angers him to his core. I don’t understand why not liking the Bears seems like such a big deal. It’s just a stupid football team. My father's love for the Bears is something that can’t be matched. It’s his birthday next week, and my mom and I have already thought about his gift. No, it's not anything meaningful as I thought my dad wouldn’t like that. Instead, it’s a Bears hat. I hope he likes it, as it seems he struggles to be appreciative of our actions.

10/28/01

So today was my father's birthday, and I was nervous about the gift we got him. It just so happened to be a Sunday, which meant the Bears were playing. Now it wouldn’t have been that bad if the Bears weren’t playing their arch-rivals, the Green Bay Packers. It was hectic, to say the least. My mom, who frankly is the only reason why I even put up with my dad, got the hat out. I was not ready to do this. The Bears were getting blown out by the end of the first half. It was 28-3, so as you can imagine, my father was irate and frankly unbearable, no pun intended. My mom and I had discussed when to give him the gift, and we decided half-time was the best option as it would be the only time in the next three hours that my father wouldn’t be focused on football. I didn’t know that the Bears would crap the bed that badly in the first half. I didn’t want to bother him as he seemed to be enamored with the half-time crew. I tried to tell my mom that a half-time gift exchange was not a good idea anymore.

She said, “He’s not mad at you, he’s mad at the Bears. The hat will cheer him up.”

So I mustered up the strength to give it to him. At first he seemed a little standoffish, as I had to get his attention multiple times. Once I finally did, I had his full attention. I smiled and said “Happy Birthday,” and gave him the hat.

He looked at it for a second. He didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds until he stood up, put his hands on my shoulders, said “thank you,” and gave me a warm embrace. As I walked back into the kitchen confused, I was hit with the smell of the bangers and mash my mother had been slaving over all day. She asked me about how it went. I told her, “Great?"

She then sighed and asked me what I meant. She has been sighing a lot more lately, probably getting tired of translating my father's actions for me. 

I stole a slice of sausage and said, “Well he didn’t say much, but he thanked me and gave me a hug.”

She simply nodded and said, “That's great! That means he loves the hat.”

The interaction with my father confused me as he isn’t a man who shows much emotion, but to see him smile made me happy. I grabbed another slice of sausage and left the kitchen so I could sit and watch the rest of the game with him. The Bears were receiving the opening kickoff and the returner ran it back for a touchdown. The Bears seemed different in the second half. They ended up winning, and my father concluded that the hat was lucky. This only furthered my family's perception of me being special as many of them thought that I had personally blessed the hat myself. I’ll have to admit it was very nice seeing my father happy, but I did not want any more attention. Overall I would say that today was fun. I normally don’t feel the urge to write in my notebook, but today was different. 

11/19/02

Today was not easy. Mother passed away about a month ago due to heart complications. Her funeral was yesterday. During the planning of the service, I was getting prepared to do the hardest thing I would ever do in my life: eulogize my mother. I was able to get bits and pieces written down in my notebook. But one night, my father broke the silence at one of our wordless dinners. “I’m going to eulogize your mother,” he declared. I’ll never forget the stoic yet frightful look on his face. My aunts and uncles were stunned when he said he was the one going up on stage to eulogize my mother. No one could imagine him talking for more than five minutes. My father did struggle through those first five minutes. He choked up many times and struggled to read his speech. It wasn't until he stopped reading off the piece of paper that the real eulogy of my mother started. My father's love for my mother is something that I never knew was so deep. For the first time in my life, I understood how my mother saw him. The moment he departed from his script, a new person emerged on that stage. Reminiscing on memories I had forgotten, never known, and ones I couldn’t forget. He poured his soul out to everyone there, something I never could’ve imagined. After the service ended, I could hear him crying... I was truly happy to see this part of my father. I just wonder, maybe selfishly, if he loves me deeply too. I wonder if he remembers things about me. If he really loves me.

3/18/04

Today was the big day. Today I chose where I would be going to college for the next four years. I had to shorten my list of schools down to two, and it was finally between Wisconsin and Northwestern, my father's alma mater. The two schools also happen to be huge rivals, which didn't help when I told my father I was choosing the Badgers. I had to tell him that it was nothing personal, it's just that I didn't picture myself being in Chicago for the rest of my life. He grunted and walked away. I couldn’t tell if he was indifferent, furious, embarrassed, or disappointed. I’ve had two years to learn his language but I still wish my mother was here to help me. She was our constant, the glue holding us together, and now the only constant remaining is the Bears’ seasonal disappointment. My father continues to watch every snap through thick and thin, I believe it has made him even stronger as he’s prepared for disappointment every year, and me… well I can't handle it. The added stress of my father's Bears makes me crumble every time I watch. Year after year, loss after loss, the Bears disappoint. I don’t know how he does it. More than ever now my father needs a win. 

7/12/05

I remember waking up, feeling dreary and almost empty. It felt like a piece of me was missing but to my knowledge, I had lost nothing. I started my morning like I always do: turn on the TV and make myself a cup of coffee in my favorite Badgers mug. Everything seemed to be okay, but my subconscious kept telling me that something was wrong. My phone rang, and when I saw the contact, I felt chills go all the way down my spine. It was the hospital where my father was staying. I was reluctant to answer the call, thinking about the multiple events the hospital could be calling me about. I tried and tried to convince myself that it wasn't the call, but sadly I knew it when the nurse said, "You might want to sit down.”

I realized today was the last time I would ever see my father. After getting off the phone I immediately put on my Badgers cap and drove as fast as I could to the Hospital. I knew that this was the last time I would ever be able to see, hear, and talk to my father. I broke down immediately as I walked in. The strongest person I ever knew looked so pale and weak.

I was the first one to arrive, and one by one, as everyone arrived, it became harder and harder to see everyone's reactions to my father's condition.

He tried to speak but the only word he could get out was "come.”

He pointed at me and waved me over. I gave him a big hug while my tears stained his gown. He motioned toward the ground like he wanted me to kneel. I got down on both of my knees and my father grabbed my Wisconsin hat and threw it in the trash next to his bed. He then took the Bears hat off his head.

He placed it on my head, grabbed my hand and said, "That's better.”

He died minutes later. I don’t feel worthy to wear my father's hat. I am not the man he was. I decided to get my Badger's cap out of the trash and find someone who deserves my father's hat, someone who enjoys the Bears as much as he did. 

12/25/05

Today was Christmas and I’m not going to lie, it was not easy as it was my first Christmas without my father or mother. I sat inside sulking for most of the day until I saw my father's hat. A feeling of guilt immediately rose over me, so I decided to go to Mullen’s to finally give it to my father's best friend, something I had thought about doing for a while. Steve Albright is almost the complete opposite of my father, he’s loud and extremely talkative, but when it comes to the Bears they couldn’t be more similar. When I got to Mullen’s, I greeted Steve and sat down. We started to talk about my father and his childhood. Steve was my father's best friend when he was a kid. He told me that my father was exactly like me when he was a kid. His love for the Bears didn't start until my grandfather died. My grandfather was an even bigger Bears fan than my father was. Steve told me many stories about my father, but one stuck with me for the rest of the night. He told me that the Bears hat that I had given my father for his birthday never left his head. He then told me that he wore it because he loved me.

Steve said, “Your father didn’t know how to say ‘I love you’ but he did know how to wear a hat.” At this moment I felt odd; the Bears hat was never a symbol of luck, it was a symbol of my father’s love for me. I was going to give the hat to Steve, but I decided to put my Badgers cap down and put it on. 

“That’s better!” Steve exclaimed, and I couldn’t help but laugh. His gaze darted to the TV broadcasting the Bears game. 

“Are they winning?” 

I remembered the Bears hadn’t been to the playoffs since the year my mother died, so I couldn’t help but think that my father was pulling a few strings with the big man to get them in. The game had just exited the two minute warning, and the Packers had no timeouts left. The players went onto the field and lined up. The room went silent. The Bears snapped the ball and handed it off to the running back who ran for a first down. Everyone in Mullen’s exploded with joy. Everyone was jumping around, including myself as I couldn’t help but be happy. This lasted for about ten minutes and when everything calmed down I looked around the room, and finally understood my father.