The Son of a Displaced Buffalonian

[buffalobillsfootball]

The Son of a Displaced Buffalonian

 

By Eli Gerber

 

I am the son of a father passionate about keeping the love of the city of Buffalo, New York, alive. It has always been described to me as a utopia of wonders like Niagara Falls, the Buffalo Bills, and various fried and fatty foods. People generally say that first impressions are the most important, but my experience with Buffalo contradicts that.

 

The first time I went, my dad and I ate at all the places he had so lovingly described to me, from Anderson's, a roadside ice cream parlor that actually stayed open an extra five minutes to serve us, to Chef’s, an Italian restaurant downtown that will leave you wanting more, no matter how much you eat. We saw a Bills game, and even though they lost badly to the New Orleans Saints, it was worth just going to experience a live football game of the team that my father once shattered a TV remote against the wall because of.

 

However, the trip that will always stick out to me the most was the second trip.

 

I was 8 years old, and while I wasn’t particularly ecstatic to be leaving home for the whole weekend, I calmed myself with the knowledge that it was Buffalo time, which meant just my dad and I. That Friday evening we went back to Anderson's, checked into the Marriott, and feel into a deep, Buffalo sleep.

We decided on Saturday to see Niagara Falls at night, when it gets lit up. It was about a 45-minute drive, and I napped along the way. When we arrived, what I saw took my breath away. A cascading mass of beautifully colored water was tumbling down the cliff that is the Falls, dropping into the abyss of the night far below. I tried to get pictures, but they didn’t develop. Still, that is one memory I will always carry with me. Not just the Falls themselves, but also the memory of my dad standing next to me the entire time, proud to be showing his son the wonders of the world he and my mother had given me.

 

The next day was the game, between the New York Jets and the Bills. It was at 1 o’ clock, so we had about two hours to cool our heels before we left. We spent the time trying to jinx the Jets, saying the Bills had no chance, we might as well not go, the usual voodoo routine.

 

When we finally got to the stadium, I was overwhelmed by the sense of passion pouring out of every crevice within a one-mile radius, something I had failed to pick up on the previous year. We spent about half an hour tailgating with some of my dad’s old buddies, and then headed over to the stadium.

We got into our seats, and a few minutes later, the game began. It was a great game, eventually going into overtime, where the Jets returned the opening kick for a touchdown, sending the Bills to another loss. As we walked out of the stadium, I burst into tears, telling my father, “The Bills are supposed to win!”

That really sums up my feelings for the city of Buffalo. It’s a great town, with nice people, amazing food, and a several teams deserving of a championship, so why can’t they win every once in a while? Despite this, my dad and I have missed only one game in the last seven seasons, and each year, we go back to do what we love.

 

I’m 14 now, and I too love Buffalo like a second home. Dad, you did a great job raising me to be your son.

 

Eli is the son of Mitch Gerber, former editor of the Courier-Express Sunday Magazine and current Senior Editor for Copy, The Chronicle of Higher Education, Washington, DC.

[Whites Bay]

In reality, of course, there's no 14-year-old that writes like that. That having been said....well, kid, it's best that you learn these lessons earlier than later. The Bills ARE supposed to win. And they will. Keep feeding the dream, because it beats the alternative.

 

Mr. Spaceman - The Byrds