Judy Kassouf Cummings

The Orange and Brown Bobble Head, cracked along one side, seems scarcely a thing of value. But, to me, it signifies a journey toward healing. In fall of 1963, my father died suddenly of a heart attack. I was 14-years-old. As an only child living with an erratic, demanding mother, Dad had been my protector and hero. The news enveloped me in darkness. I wanted to hide from the world forever. But then, unexpectedly about a month later, a call came asking if I would perform as part of the half-time show entertainment at a Cleveland Browns vs. Philadelphia Eagles football game. Although I wasn't eager to do so, it did seem as if a shaft of light had entered my dark world. I wondered, as only a child can, “Maybe, if I do this, Mom will feel happier.” I accepted the invitation.

It was November 3, 1963, the day before what would have been my father's 59th birthday. I recall a chilly day, bright skies, and a large, boisterous crowd. A slender teenaged girl in a pink sequined costume stepped forward during the half-time announcement. I shook, not only from the 48 degree temperatures, but from anticipation and fear.

Running onto the 50 yard line marker, I held two silver batons. The performance was flawless. The crowd rose to their feet and applauded. There were 60,671 people in attendance on that day, but I performed for the one who wasn't in the crowd, my father.

Running off the field, while gazing up at the blue sky, I nearly collided with a Zeus-like figure. Later I learned his name: Jim Brown, #32, Fullback/ Future Hall of Famer.

So much in life is broken -- like this Bobble Head souvenir. We piece together what is left, gaining strength from brokenness to move forward and create a new life.