Football On Thanksgiving?
Editor’s note: Once a week, Laura Morton will use personal history to put a Craigslist ad into perspective.
A few years ago, I couldn’t make it up to Connecticut to see my sister and great aunts for Thanksgiving, so my friend Mary invited me to her family’s holiday.
Mary met me at the bookstore where I worked; my bags were already packed in the back. The moment I closed up shop, we hit the road. There was a chill in the air that night and the feeling of driving “home” for Thanksgiving made me think, for a moment, that life really did reflect Hallmark Channel movies.
We arrived late. A single light shone above her parents’ back door.
We were quietly creeping in when her mother turned on the kitchen light. She hugged her daughter and came over to hug me as well. The house smelled of cookies and warmth, and through the darkness I could see the dining room table already set for the next day’s big feast.
After whispered hellos and instructions about which milk in the fridge was ours to drink and which was to be left for the Thanksgiving pudding, we gingerly made our way up the stairs to Mary’s childhood bedroom.
We unpacked, changed, and each took a twin bed. I fell asleep faster than I had in years.
The next morning, I woke up groggy to crisp blue skies.
After Mary convinced me that it was okay to walk around the house in pajamas, we joined her father in the conservatively decorated wood-paneled den. He sat in his brown leather recliner, bloody mary in hand and a football game on the tube.
We said good-morning, plopped on the sofa, and within moments her mother came in, donning a festive apron, asking us what we’d like to eat and drink. Mary requested a bloody mary, so I did the same. Within moments, her mother returned with our drinks and a tray of breakfast snacks.
I don’t know how to describe it, other than it felt like playing pretend. The hors d’oeuvres arrived on holiday trays, each more perfect and delicious than the next. When they got low, her mother swooped in and replenished. In the little conversation we had during commercials, her father’s eyes never left the television.
After feeling lazy and a bit tipsy, I took the time away from the morning to get ready for the day. I showered and dressed. I called my parents and sister and great aunts.
After over an hour, I returned to the den, where nothing had changed, except Mary’s best friend Jon and his partner had joined. They too sat on the sofa, drinks in hand, watching the football game.
I sat down again, and within moments Mary’s mother placed another drink in my hand—an even stronger bloody mary.
Finally, the football game came to its final moments. My excitement grew as I was more than ready to start our Thanksgiving holiday, but when the game ended no one budged. They didn’t even look away from the television. The only movement was her father’s slight of hand as he quickly changed the station to a new game.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Detroit. Lions.” Jon said.
“So . . . you really just watch football, all day?” I asked.
They turned to me in unison.
“What else would you do on Thanksgiving?”
I had heard of this happening, but never actually experienced it for myself.
I was 28 at the time and had never watched a single football game on Thanksgiving.
But it got me thinking . . . what is a traditional Thanksgiving, anyway?
los angeles craigslist > long beach / 562 > community > groups
are you gay? are you a guy? (Nude snuggle parties..)
we host. And it’s free, bring a desert or side dish, salad or something.
We also will have “Thanksgiving Hugging Bash”
ask for bedrest or romeo.
Whether you snuggled with Bedrest or drank on the floor, watched football all day, or brought a nice dessert to a hugging bash, I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving.