Taking my father for granted on Superbowl Sunday

My dad died in 1997. He loved football. Morning until night every Sunday. I wondered if he'd be watching the Packers beat the Steelers today if he were alive. Of course he would. And I would have flown out to watch it with him like I'd do every year if he were alive. Then I thought, no I wouldn't. If he were alive I'd see him once a year and talk to him once or twice a month. If my dad were alive, I'd take him entirely for granted.

I wish I could fly out to watch the Superbowl with my dad. I wish I did when I had the chance.