Super Bowl Sunday 2013

by jkatejohnston

Dear Max,

Last night Enzo got himself into a tragic state of mind.  We were lying in his bed having his last snuggle.

“I’m not even going to watch the game tomorrow,” he said. I didn’t answer, hoping he’d just drop it and go to sleep.  “Everyone knows the ’49ers are going to win.”

“No they don’t.  Not even God knows who’s going to win.”  (Why did I bring up God?)

“God knows everything.  He knows math and science and how to make life.”

“Shhhhh.  We can talk about it in the morning.”

“God doesn’t like me.”

“Shhhhh.  It’s okay.”

“Nobody likes me.”

I looked at him in the dim light.  He was summoning tears.  Willed tears, but real sadness.  His mouth turned down.  The first tear slipped out.

“Enzo, so many people like you.   Mama Teresa and I love you.”

He shook his head against the pillow and whispered again, “Nobody likes me.”  I stopped talking, and he kept whispering over and over, “Nobody likes me.”

Finally I got Teresa and she lay down beside him and I curled up at the foot of the bed.

“The whole family all squished on my bed together,” said Enzo.

“Well, most of us,” said Teresa.  (She was half on and half off.)

“Nobody likes me,” he said.

“Shhhh.  We love you.  Now go to sleep.”

After a few minutes I left and ate some mint chip ice cream, and Teresa stayed with him until he was asleep.


Now watching Super Bowl.  Halftime Report: the ’49ers are losing.  May have to make the Debacho.  So far have had Wavy Lays, Fritos Scoops, homemade black bean dip, salsa, sour cream, grilled cheese sandwiches on homemade awesome bread, Oreos, Nutterbutters, milk.  Not enough.  The Niners need us.  Must make.  The Nacho Debacho.