Christmas was always a solid 24 hours spent with my family, who all lived within three streets of one another.
My brother, Bryan, and I started Christmas Eve at one Grandma’s, woke up early Christmas morning to open our stockings (thanks for all the illegal lottery tickets, Mom!) (“Please play responsibly”), spent the afternoon trying to beat whatever new Mario game was out (I mostly watched and cried while he beat the medium-to-hard levels for me) and then ended the day at our other grandmother’s house.
I didn’t realize, until I saw these photos, how much I pretended to like sports because my brother did and, since he was older, I both hated him and wanted to do everything he was doing, naturally. He was for the Cowboys and I was the (incredibly fake) Steelers’ fan (…their colors were nicer).
We’re not a religious family, so yes, Christmas was very surface. But it was just another excuse to spend a full 24 hours with the family I felt the closest to and who never really called me out on my lack of football knowledge.
(…I DO know where the red zone is, and the laces should always be out…)