February 9, 2025: The Super Bowl

Like most people who breathe oxygen, I watched the Super Bowl last night.

But it’s never really about the game as much as those in the room. So we welcomed a few friends to the house for the annual spectacle of glitzy celebrities, eight-million-dollar commercials, and oh yeah… football.

But, oddly enough, Super Bowls make me think of my kids. And I realized something. It was the first time in over two decades that at least one of them wasn’t by my side.

As I munched on tortilla chips, a couple of memories came rushing back:

Twelve years ago, I took my three young boys — Luke, Jake, and Sam — to a Super Bowl party in a church gym. This gave Jess a well-earned break and the guys a fun adventure.

The men’s ministry had turned a basketball court into a massive viewing area. We unfolded our summer beach chairs, devoured pizza, and watched the game projected onto a wall. It was a blast. Simple pleasures, perfect evening.

I also think of my oldest daughter, McKenzie. During her middle school years, she operated her “Sports Diner” on Super Bowl Sundays. With the help of her sister Kate, she would create menus, take our food orders, and then serve an array of treats on fancy plates. It was the most exclusive restaurant in town. She spoiled us, and we enjoyed the five-star goodies more than the football.

The winners of those games? They’ve faded like old newspaper headlines.

But the faces around me, the laughter, the traditions we built — those moments remain perfectly preserved.