A rude couple stole our seats at my 85-year-old dad’s first NFL game and told us to sit somewhere else. I decided to give them their fifteen seconds of fame. Ten minutes later, the woman was screaming, her boyfriend was running, and Dad couldn’t stop laughing.
I paid a small fortune to make my dad’s lifelong dream come true.
Instead, I spent the first half of the game arguing with two strangers who thought they could do whatever they wanted.
I tried doing things the right way. When that failed, I got creative.
I don’t regret what happened next. But I still have to ask: AITA?
But I still have to ask: AITA?
***
My name’s Mike. I’m 41, and my dad, Harold, is the reason I love football.
When I was eight, a few months after Mom died, we were watching a Sunday game.
“Dad! The game’s starting!”
“Coming! You wearing your lucky socks?”
“They’re dirty.”
“Well, there goes our season.”
“Dad! The game’s starting!”
Dad brought two sandwiches into the living room.
“Think we’re gonna win?”
“Only if you stop asking questions.”
“Mom always answered my questions.”
He sat beside me.
“Yeah. She was better at that.”
“Think we’re gonna win?”
“Would she like football?”
“She liked watching you get excited.”
He put his arm around me.
After Mom died, Dad raised me alone.
Money was tight, but every Sunday we had football, sandwiches, and each other.
When I was seventeen, the television showed our team’s packed stadium.
I paid a small fortune to make my dad’s lifelong dream come true.
“Man, I’d love to see that place,” Dad said.
“Then why don’t we go?”
“Tickets cost money.”
“You have a job.”
“And you have college coming.”
“Just one game.”
“Tell you what. When you’re rich, you can take me.”
“Then why don’t we go?”
“Deal.”
Dad worked overtime to help pay for college. Later, he helped with my first apartment.
Whenever I tried paying him back, he said the same thing.
“Save it for something important.”
I finally found something important.
“Deal.”
Three years ago, Dad had a stroke. He spent months in rehabilitation, learning to walk again.
He can manage short distances with a cane, but stairs are difficult.
One Sunday, I found him watching our team.
“Look at that crowd,” he said. “Must be something to hear them cheering.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Mike, I’d need a wheelchair.”
I finally found something important.
“So we’ll get one.”
“Tickets aren’t cheap.”
“Neither was college.”
“That was different.”
“You’re right. This time, I’m paying.”
He studied me.
“This time, I’m paying.”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Well, don’t buy the cheap seats. My eyes aren’t getting younger.”
I bought two expensive lower-level tickets and arranged wheelchair assistance through the stadium.
Dad complained about the price for a week.
Then game day arrived.
Then game day arrived.
We left three hours early and still got caught in traffic.
“I told you,” Dad said.
“What?”
“We should’ve left earlier.”
“Next time, I’ll book a hotel across the street.”
“Next time? Planning to bankrupt yourself?”
“You’re right. This time, I’m paying.”
We were laughing when the attendant helped us reach our section.
Unfortunately, the game had already started.
Dad insisted on walking the last stretch with his cane.
“I can do it.”
“I know.”
“Then stop hovering.”
“I can do it.”
“I’m not hovering.”
“You’re hovering professionally.”
We reached row twelve.
Two strangers occupied our seats.
A woman in a red jacket was eating nachos. Beside her sat a man wearing a baseball cap.
“Excuse me,” I said. “You’re in our seats.”
Two strangers occupied our seats.
The woman didn’t turn around.
“We got here first.”
“I have the tickets.”
“Well, they were empty.”
“Because we were stuck in traffic.”
“Not our problem.”
“We got here first.”
I showed her my phone.
“Row twelve. Seats seven and eight.”
She glanced at it.
“Congratulations.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can read numbers.”
“Not our problem.”
Her boyfriend finally spoke.
“Buddy, there are empty seats upstairs.”
“Then go sit there.”
“We’re comfortable here.”
Dad leaned against my arm.
“Mike, it’s okay.”
“We’re comfortable here.”
“No, Dad.”
I turned back.
“My father’s eighty-five. He had a stroke. He can’t keep climbing stairs.”
The woman looked him over.
“He’s old. He probably can’t even see the game.”
“He’s standing right here!”
“Buddy, there are empty seats upstairs.”
“Then find him somewhere to sit.”
The boyfriend glanced around.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Then move.”
“You’re making a scene!”
Interesting. The guy seemed more worried about drawing attention than losing our seats.
“Then move.”
Dad squeezed my wrist.
“Please, Mike. I didn’t come here to fight.”
I wanted to argue. Instead, I helped him up to two empty seats a few rows higher.
He was breathing hard when we sat down.
And I was beginning to think those expensive tickets had bought us nothing but trouble.
But I never thought I’d hear Dad laugh like that again after Mom died.
Interesting.
***
I helped Dad settle into his seat, then told him I needed to use the restroom.
“Don’t take too long. You’re missing the game.”
“I’ll be quick.”
“That’s what you said when you assembled my bookshelf.”
“And I fixed it.”
“It still leans.”
I wanted to argue.
Instead of heading to the restroom, I found an usher near the section entrance.
“Someone’s sitting in our seats.”
“Did you ask them to move?”
“Three times.”
He checked my tickets.
“These are yours.”
“Someone’s sitting in our seats.”
“Great. Can you help?”
“I can’t leave this entrance.”
“Then call somebody.”
“You need guest services.”
“My dad can barely walk.”
“I’ll radio my supervisor.”
“My dad can barely walk.”
He spoke into his radio.
“He’s handling another incident.”
“How long?”
“Can’t say.”
“So we miss the game?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“So we miss the game?”
I gave him our row number and asked him to send help.
On my way back, I passed the couple.
The woman was holding up her phone.
“Kevin, just one picture!”
“No.”
“Come on!”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Put it away.”
“You took pictures with your buddies last weekend.”
“I don’t like being photographed.”
“Then why won’t you let me tag you?”
“I don’t want my face online!”
“Are you embarrassed by me?”
“Kevin, just one picture!”
“Of course not.”
“Then smile!”
“Brenda. Please.”
Kevin noticed me.
“What are you looking at?”
“Just checking whether my seats are still there.”
“Then smile!”
“Get lost.”
Brenda laughed.
“Some people can’t take a hint.”
I returned to Dad.
“Any luck?”
Oops. He knew where I went.
“Get lost.”
“Supervisor’s busy.”
“Then sit.”
“Those seats cost a fortune.”
“Money isn’t everything. I’m here watching football with my son. That’s what I wanted.”
“But you deserve better.”
“I deserve a hot dog.”
“I’m here watching football with my son.”
“Seriously?”
“With mustard.”
I bought him one.
For a while, we watched the game.
Dad shouted at the referee. I complained about our defense.
It almost felt like those Sundays when I was eight.
“But you deserve better.”
Then Dad shifted in his seat.
“Leg bothering you?”
“A little.”
“We can leave early.”
Or I’ll end up getting into a fight, just like I did when I was seventeen.
“Don’t you dare.”
For a while, we watched the game.
“You’re uncomfortable.”
“I’ve waited eighty-five years. I can handle another quarter.”
I looked toward our original seats.
Brenda was laughing at her phone. Kevin kept looking around.
Those two had made my father feel like a burden.
And Kevin’s strange fear of attention was about to become useful.
Those two had made my father feel like a burden.
Near the concession stand, I noticed a woman wearing a stadium entertainment badge.
I glanced back at row twelve.
Kevin was still arguing with the woman in red.
For the first time that evening, I had an idea that made me smile.
***
A few minutes later, I returned to Dad with his water.
“Where have you been?”
“You’re uncomfortable.”
Before I could answer, the giant screen flashed:
KISS CAM!
A young couple kissed. Then another.
Suddenly, a familiar red jacket filled the screen. Brenda and Kevin.
I leaned back in my seat.
Now things were getting interesting.
KISS CAM!
“KEVIN! LOOK! IT’S US!”
She threw both arms around him.
Kevin looked up at the screen.
“Get off me!”
“What?”
“KEVIN! LOOK! IT’S US!”
“TURN AROUND!”
“Kevin, we’re on Kiss Cam!”
“I KNOW!”
The crowd started chanting.
“KISS! KISS! KISS!”
Brenda grabbed his face.
“KISS! KISS! KISS!”
“Just kiss me!”
“NO!”
He pulled away so hard that his cap fell off.
People started laughing.
“What is WRONG with you?” Brenda shouted.
“MY WIFE COULD SEE THIS!”
“What is WRONG with you?”
Brenda stopped smiling.
“Your WHAT?”
Kevin grabbed his cap.
“I have to get out of here!”
“KEVIN!”
He pushed past the spectators and hurried toward the exit.
“I have to get out of here!”
“YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE DIVORCED!”
He didn’t turn around.
“KEVIN! YOU LIED TO ME!”
Half our section was laughing as Brenda grabbed her purse and ran after him.
And just like that, our seats were empty.
Dad turned toward me.
“YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE DIVORCED!”
“You did that?”
“I suggested them for Kiss Cam.”
“You knew he was married?”
“No! Just that he hated cameras.”
Dad burst out laughing.
“They stole our seats!” I protested.
“You knew he was married?”
“And you stole his girlfriend!”
“I didn’t know about his wife!”
“Neither did she!”
We reclaimed our seats with our tickets.
“How’s the view?”
“Perfect. Now get me nachos.”
“How’s the view?”
In the fourth quarter, our team scored the winning touchdown. Dad cheered, gripping my arm.
And I rejoiced not only in this victory.
“Your mother would’ve loved tonight.”
“Even my little stunt?”
“Especially seeing you stand up for me.”
“Your mother would’ve loved tonight.”
I hadn’t intended to expose Kevin’s marriage. But Dad got his dream game, and I heard him laugh harder than ever again.
So, AITA for putting that couple on Kiss Cam when I knew Kevin desperately wanted to stay off camera?
