I must have been 4 or 5 when this homegrown "Carolina boy" developed his hilarious rendition of comedic explanation of the game. It flashed back memories of my dad and uncle laughing out loud with such verve that mom's only crystal bowl fell and broke on the pine floor of our apartment.

It was the mid-1950s and the ravages of two wars, though not discussed, were prevalent. My family did what all families did in that day -- they carried on. They dealt. Dealt with blindness and disfigurement from an errant explosion in Burma; long-lasting effects of being shot down as a P-38 pilot over the Asian Theatre; loss of a father, uncle and way of life. They forgave, they started over, they worked hard, and they made something of themselves.

These two families kept their faith throughout. I knew this before I was 4 through whispering from the front step under my bedroom window. "Cigars under the Stars" my mom and her twin would say about the glorious nights of sharing life strategies that my dad, Felix, and uncle Gene would keep. Frances and Felix, Julia and Gene took apartments side by side ... kids in tow. They'd been doing this for years, first to help Gene through his dozens of surgeries, some just to help him to hear, if mainly in one ear. His blindness was a constant reminder of the reality of war. Never, ever did doubt creep in. I was in awe then and I'm in awe now.

Now, they were at Carolina, the school to give Gene a chance. Gene would be eligible only after a stint in front of a Congressional hearing to first change the law to allow this disabled veteran a chance. That was Felix's bright idea. Later, the duo would explain their nerve on Capitol Hill by way of youth and the necessary fight for justice that youth embraces. Gene was told he could only enroll if Felix was in each of his classes, something never in question. Gene brought back A's to Felix's C's. Carolina in the fall was a fresh beginning for both. And Carolina in the fall meant football.

I could feel the anticipation when my sis, cousins and I shuffled through the giant leaves on campus on our walk from church toward Kenan Stadium with our folks. We'd stop at the nearby Carolina Inn for Ole Elmer's rum rolls where we'd wait for Felix and Gene to come back from The Game. The roar of the crowd mingled with Rebel Yells, whistles, dogs, laughter, joy and southern drawls. Football Fever is what I called it.

It wasn't about football really. More about picnics out of backs of cars and labs running with children and soft southern smells and a feeling that this was ours and no one could take it away ... ever, and if they tried they would possibly be tarred and feathered. I loved it when Felix and Gene did the Rebel Yell and chuckled about it afterward. They knew all the names, numbers, and positions of "their" players as well as those incidentals of rival teams, Duke, Clemson, State.

Fall football lent a sense of normalcy to a community that needed it. Perhaps we need it now more than ever. A tradition that prevails while the world tackles our spirit and tries to sack our very soul. I listened again to "What it Was, Was Football" by Andy (alumni are always on a first-name basis). This time I laughed out loud so hard at its corniness that, I felt everything was going to be all right in the world. The season's not over and there's aways next year.