I try to plan my Sunday’s around watching football, eating, and drinking. And everyone here hates me for it.
I feel like this is something I’ve been doing my entire life. But when I look back at my childhood, I don’t really remember doing this often. The only time I really remember watching football is when we watched the Super Bowl.
I think it was because my mother never really liked watching football. Her father – my grandfather – was a member of the Washington Redskins coaching staff from 1967-1969. Sometime after that he spent his time traveling and scouting for the NFL. I remember my mother saying to me at one point that although she had some good locker-room memories of when her father was with Washington, she felt like she missed out on a lot of time with her dad when he was scouting.
And so, although we watched football (how else could I know what I do about football?), there was no pomp and circumstance like there is in my house now.
Even though I’m the only one who cares about it.
But the relationship between football and my family has changed in recent years. As we have become more interested in it, my mother has become more interested, or at least pretended. No, I think the Sunday and early Monday texts regarding football are evidence that she does in fact, enjoy it.
What once provided a division in our family life has now become a binder.
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