Until recently, I would have agreed that Sunday is family day. But some strange twist of fate, and perhaps her father's uncanny ability to get very emotional about sports (I've seen him shed a tear observing the incredible glory of a well-placed Tiger Woods putt) has somehow transformed me into the most dreaded of all suburban things - a football fan. Well, not really a fan. I just like our home team. I hate all the others. I cheer every time our team sacks the opposing quarter back. I yell and hoot as our team runs down the field carrying the ball. I jump up and thrust my arms above my head when we score. Okay, I'm a fan. But admitting it is the first step.

Hopefully I'll get through the other eleven before we leave shore life in June.