I love watching football. I love waking up Sunday morning knowing that my favorite team, the Pittsburgh Steelers, are on in a matter of minutes. I love coming home from school Monday knowing that football will be on in a couple of hours. (Although Monday Night Football has lost most of its flair.) I love when my tickets to Pittsburgh come in the mail, because I know that means I’m going to spend the whole weekend with my dad and away from school and boys.

For some reason, I really messed up on choosing my friends. I love them all to death and would do anything for them, but my goodness, they really don’t understand football. My friends are the kind of people who like to do schoolwork. So, when I ask if they saw the game, they reply, “What’s the point of overweight guys running into each other?”

I don’t know about anyone else, but there’s a reason I love watching football. Actually, it was an accident. I was in sixth grade — so it was five years ago — and the Steelers were in the playoffs. They were heading to Tennessee. My dad grew up loving the Steelers and my Mom encouraged him to buy tickets, and head to Nashville for the weekend.

My father was pessimistic. He didn’t want to go alone and he didn’t have any friends that liked football. My mom was out of the picture — she couldn’t leave us alone for the weekend. So, it was either me or my twin sister, Amanda. They asked Amanda and she didn’t want to go. Who knows why. My parents told me that I would miss one day of school. I shrugged and agreed. We were on our way to Tennessee.

I went to Tennessee and froze my butt off. I thought I could get away wearing what I wore in California in the winter — flip flops and shorts, of course. We paid a visit to the local department store before the game.

Arriving at the stadium, we found our seats. I had absolutely no idea what was going on. I couldn’t tell who had the ball. I kept cheering for the Titans. After all, everyone else was cheering, so I would to. Then I realized the Steelers were the away team. The Steelers lost that game, but I didn’t care.

Why? Because, I realized, it wasn’t about football. It was about being with my Dad. So, every year, I go to a Steelers game. Seventh grade - Cardinals @ Steelers (Win). Eighth grade - Playoff game Jets @ Steelers (Win). Ninth grade - SUPERBOWL Seahawks and Steelers (Win). Tenth grade - Steelers @ Chargers (Lost). Eleventh grade - Browns @ Steelers (Win).

But it didn’t matter if the Steelers won or lost. It wasn’t about the “overweight men hitting each other.” Or at least it wasn’t to me. Now, I love football, I can carry on intelligent conversations about football, (imagine all these teenage boys' faces when they realize they finally found a girl who likes football), I know who has the ball, and I can name most of our roster. I learned to love football so I could get closer to my Dad. My friends still don’t understand. That’s fine. All I know is that football changed my life, because now, I know I can go to my Dad for anything. All because of football.