A Michigan Fan in an MSU Family
Growing up, I knew I was different from most of my family simply because I was a U of M fan. Like most reasons to be a fan of a particular team, mine was inherited from my father. The difficulty was that most of his family and my mother’s family went to Michigan State (MSU), and while the resulting rivalry was comical at times, in the eyes of a child, it was frustrating.
Family Background
My father was the second of eight kids growing up in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. While the area was one of affluence, my grandparents were not brought up that way. My grandfather grew up on a farm, and when his father died, he bought the farm from his siblings. He continued to work on the farm on the weekends on top of his regular job as an engineer at Ford Tractor.
My father went to the University of Michigan for his bachelors and masters. His going to U of M was out of step for his 7 brothers and sisters because almost all of them went to Michigan State. Michigan is a better school for engineering (amongst other things) than Michigan State, harder to get into, and more expensive. My grandfather also went to Michigan, but the family didn’t have a particular affinity to Michigan.
My grandfather’s plan for his eight kids is that they would go to Oakland University for two years and then transfer to Michigan State. Oakland is a commuter school, but it is much cheaper than even Michigan State. That way, the kids could stay close to home, and the cost of college would be reduced.
It worked well for my dad’s older brother, but my dad always wanted to go to Michigan. He grew up watching Michigan football and wanted to study engineering. He worked weekends for his father at the farm which earned him a little money. He also worked the every summer at the farm during high school. He saved his money and paid his way through school with the help of some summer jobs.
Then, my parents married and moved to New Mexico. After my birth, they moved to Houston. Regardless, they were a great distance from both of their families. We flew back for Christmas and during the summer, and usually my grandfather paid for our flights. At the time, his siblings all lived within two hours of home. Gradually, some moved to Chicago and one to Denver. We were still the furthest from family.
Michigan Football
I enjoyed watching Michigan play football as a kid because it was a particular bonding experience with dad. He was more passionate about Michigan football than anything else. His general demeanor is a quiet introvert, and he was good about doing activities with us, but I rarely had a conversation with him in my youth that went on for long. As an adult, I’ve had plenty of long, heart felt conversations with him. In fact in adulthood, I would say that I came to know my father to be a different person as I had seen as a child. I’m a social extrovert, so our personalities are quite contrasting.
We knew how deeply passionate he was about football because he would do things outside of his character when watching Michigan play. Dad could not and would not sing, but whenever Michigan scored or made a big stop, he would start belting out the Michigan fight ssong. Whenever Michigan messed up, he would curse and yell at the tv.
In my earliest memories, I remember playing outside in the back of the house, and hearing him scream. Usually, you’d have to wait a few seconds to figure out if it was good or bad. If I was inside, he was very animated, hopping out of his brown lazy-boy chair, singing the song, marching around the room while moving his hands like instruments were being played. He was definitely in his element.
Hail! To the Victors
Over the years, he became less animated. The defeats that used to cause a depressed week turned into days, then hours, then not at all. The loudness of his voice diminished as did the lyrics he could recall. We went from knowing the whole song without a beat to just “Hail! To the Victors.” Games became less important; they were no longer events but background television. It was and is still enjoyable to watch football with him, but the intense passion died some years ago.
Family Gatherings and the Usual Rivalry
Every time we visited, it seemed a substantial part of the salutations were digs back and forth about MSU and UM. Qualitatively, my father went to more schooling than his siblings, getting a Ph.D., but quantitatively, there were just more people who went to MSU.
They would be decked out in white and green, and my parents got us some Michigan clothes. The one time I remember in particular was at the farm, at Farm Fest one summer, and we had matching shorts and shirts with U of M in big yellow lettering.
I’m not sure how long we were teased, but it felt like a long time. Looking back, I don’t think it was normal or appropriate considering our age. We didn’t understand it was just joking around, and I suspect the humor would go on the mean side even when the other clearly wasn’t responding anymore.
They started referring to us as “Umm”, and I didn’t even get the joke for awhile. My dad tried to do his bit, and this was back in the day when Michigan was a dominate football team and MSU was not. But again, dad was not that kind of person to bullshit and go back and forth like that. He didn’t want to argue.
In Reflection
As I reflect, this seemingly unimportant detail of family life, combined with living away from family, colored my view of my dad’s family when I was young.
My brother and I were the oldest grandchildren out of 23, so when we were little, all of our aunts and uncles were young adults or teenagers, having a good time. They would play euchre, and we were never good enough to even attempt to play with them. By the time I was old enough to play well, they all had kids and didn’t play anymore.
I don’t remember our aunts and uncles playing with us or taking us to the playground. There was a one off here or there, but generally, they were just people that were there.
It was painful to see in later years, as I was entering into my teenage years, how they changed with their own kids. Suddenly, Farm Fest wasn’t people sitting around or playing horse shoe (another game they stopped playing once I was old enough to play), but rather, there were all sorts of kid games. Whatever happened to exploring the dangerous barn? The evidence was not looking good.
Our kid activities were to go find something to play with. My grandparents’ house was sparse when it came to toys expect for a few metal tractors. Once we were given a broken tape recorder and a screwdriver. My brother and I sat behind a couch and took it apart.
Other than going to the farm, the only activity was to watch TV. Usually, other people would command the remote and watch the ever entertaining golf tournament followed by almost immediately falling asleep. There wasn’t much to watch for kids, but they had a VCR. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any movies other than Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Probably not the most age appropriate movie, but we saw it far too many times.
Of the little time we saw my dad’s family, only a small portion was memorable interaction with his siblings. Of those interactions, the majority seem to be them bashing us for being Michigan fans. There was always a surprisingly fun time like late-night euchre, but that was infrequent.
I don’t mean to compare families, but I must. My mother’s family was larger; she was one of 14 kids. Most of her siblings went to MSU, 2 went to Michigan, and she went to Central Michigan and New Mexico State. Rarely did they heckle each other about schools; not that they didn’t have their mean streaks. They seemed to interact a lot more with us, but it might have been because we weren’t at the top of the 44 grandchildren.
Building Relationships
Whatever the case, I always felt closer to my mom’s side than my dad’s family, and it isn’t for lack of trying on my part. In my teenage years, I took on a particular effort to get to know them and talk to them and to spend time at the farm. My figuring was that they just weren’t into us as kids. I’m not sure I was right, and some of them I’ve gotten to know better, but still, I don’t have a strong connection with any of them.
Now, I’m not sure if my view of my family was colored by being so extroverted and them being so introverted. I lived in Detroit during undergrad, and I wasn’t receiving any invitations. I moved to Notre Dame for grad school, and I saw people only if they happen to be in town for a game, but I was never invited to Chicago, a mere 90 miles away for dinner or a visit by the three uncles (and their families) living their.
I suppose I’m not delusional as I’ve see how the other grandchildren experience the family. Clearly, they’ve had a much different experience than my siblings and I. My brother and sister have all had similar experiences. On the other hand, it is nice to have such a common shared experience with them, especially that honey baked ham that kept showing up at family functions.
I suppose some of them might take offense to this story, and I’m not writing this out to complain. I think there are certain experiences as a child that are hard to comprehend, and by writing about them, I’ve found a way to have a greater understanding even if the understanding I’m finding conflicts with how I want to perceive reality. I would love to think my family is something different than they are, but I find acceptance comes easier when my perception is rooted in reality.
More importantly, I’m trying to remember the lesson I was taught by my mother or father about my relationship with my sister. I used to complain and criticize how she did this or that. I didn’t realize that the totality of her relationship with me were those moments. So I had to adjust how I talked to her and to be nice to her because when you don’t interact with someone often, that time has that much more importance and impact, especially on a child.
During the infrequent times that I see my family, I try to make the most of it. I go past the salutations. Relationships aren’t built on salutations. I not only ask questions, but I offer details of my life without being asked. I conversate and work on making good conversation even if the other person has a much more difficult time with it. I also talk to the people who want to talk to me. My time is limited, so why should I try to build relationships with those who don’t want relationships with me?
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Further readings of mine:
Staccato Espresso: Leveling Up Espresso
The Tale of the Stolen Espresso Machine
