This is my family.
Thanksgiving. It’s a holiday without any pretense. No gifts, no expectations. No church (or arguments about whether everyone should go to church.) Just a Griswold family gathering with football and feasting (or in my case of the crazy Italians, foosball).
Papa has a broken foot – that one from the downstairs bar and an intense game of kick-the-ball with the boys. (Sorry Dad.) So he limped around with a walking stick while wearing black socks with sandals (I do not know why these events need to be related). Continue reading
