I realized this morning that I have no memories of Superbowl Sunday at my house growing up. I can’t think of one football related party or gathering at my family home with the exception of a shindig my sister threw when she was in college. Perhaps Superbowl Sunday wasn’t as big of a deal when it started back in ’67 as it is now.

For all I know my dad was working on his car like it was any other Sunday and just tuned into the game at night. No dips or chips, no wings, ribs or 6 foot sub sandwiches. Just dad laying on the floor doing his leg exercises watching whatever teams were clashing heads that year. Or maybe he was just watching “The Waltons.”

When my oldest sister got married things changed. She and her husband are pretty big sports fans, and my sister loves to entertain. Her house, whether it was in Jersey or Virginia, was Superbowl Central each and every year. I could personally care less about the Superbowl unless I team I like is playing. Other than that it’s a day to drink, munch, and bullshit with folks I haven’t seen in a while.

My kids? They have grown up knowing that Superbowl Sunday means a party. They have been to dozens of my sister’s gatherings where we usually had to leave after half-time so we could put them to bed. Every year we made a Superbowl grid and pitched in our quarters in the hopes of winning a few bucks, and every halftime we stuffed ourselves with hot dogs and chili.

This year, it’s just us though. My sister has moved too far away for a days commute, and we really don’t have anyone to invite over. Yes, this year it’s just the family – with me making foods I don’t usually take the time to make; stuffed mushrooms, bacon wrapped shrimp, and ribs.

As for the game? I’ll be watching “Girls” in the bedroom. Or “Downton Abbey”. I’ll check the score from time to time, but just to see if I’ve won any money. And I’ll feed my family of course – that’s the most important chore for today.