Every year around Christmas, the Hofman family plays football. It's been a family tradition for over 40 years, starting when my dad was a little kid and his family gathered with the cousins and grandparents. Now the game is played among with my dad and his siblings and some of my cousins and me (when I'm around for Christmas). Our annual game, the Snow Bowl, does not feature very high quality football. Not very many of us even attended a high school that has a football team. Tackling was banned decades ago. And while we used to have quite a few participants, we've had a lot of 3-on-3 matches lately.
The Snow Bowl might not be much, but I love it. I started playing when I was about seven, a little kid standing on the edges of play, getting tossed one ball a game as a reward for being out there. Then I became a fifteen-year-old role player who could make a couple plays a game as a secondary option. Then, as time continued to work in my favor and I came into height and wingspan that my dad and his brothers couldn't match, I became a major player around the time I entered college. Sliding around on a dusting of snow—or trudging through several inches, depending on the year—is a lot of fun. There's really nothing that compares with the thrill of showing up a family member, even if that also means being shown up stings more, too. Maybe the best part of the Snow Bowl is that it's a change of pace. There's a lot of wonderful sitting around and eating and chatting during the holidays. Sometimes it's nice to catch a few balls and run until you need to catch your breath, too.
Grace and peace,
BMH
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