Who doesn’t love a holiday? For most, it means time off from work or school. Religious holidays are exactly that and need no explanation here. On legal holidays, banks may be closed, the stock market shuts down, and there’s no mail service. There is no shortage of legal holidays—Memorial Day, Labor Day, Independence Day, and Veterans Day, to name but a few. And then there’s that all-time favorite, Thanksgiving Day. There’s something about Thanksgiving that everyone loves. Maybe it’s the turkey, but somehow I doubt that the bird is the big attraction. Adults can sleep late (at least the men can; the women are usually in the kitchen at the crack of dawn), children can spend an entire day playing, and a major delight for everyone, young and old, is that stores offer huge sales the day after Thanksgiving, which is always a Friday.
But, in addition to legal or religious ones, there’s another type of holiday. These are usually celebrated on a Sunday. President Woodrow Wilson issued a presidential proclamation in 1914 that officially established the first national Mother’s Day holiday. But in fact, long before then, there was an annual celebration honoring mothers and motherhood. Those celebrations date back to well before the rise of the Roman Empire. Father’s Day is a lot newer. That might surprise people because it’s often mistakenly thought that Father’s Day and Mother’s Day evolved together side by side. While that’s a logical assumption, logic isn’t always the answer. There are some discrepancies about the date, but Father’s Day showed up sometime between 1908 and 1910. Nobody is sure who the first person was to have the inspiration to honor dads and to then push for a specific date to be set aside for the festivity. But that’s no problem, because no one really cares.
The newest holiday of them all is also always held on a Sunday. It doesn’t honor a parent, a president, or a veteran and it isn’t a federal or state holiday. Alas, there are no day-after department-store sales, and turkey rarely makes an appearance on the table. It’s not a religious holiday in the literal sense, but there’s such fervor on this day that it might as well be. It’s known as Super Bowl Sunday!
The first Super Bowl game was played in 1967, but it didn’t become such a big deal right away. In case there is anyone in this country who is unaware of it, it is the “mother of all football games.” It determines the championship of the National Football League and is played by the best teams of the National Football Conference and the American Football Conference. (Why those are called conferences I can’t figure out, since it’s all about running and tackling, which is not my understanding of what a conference is. But no one seems to care whether or not I understand.)
For some reason most folks don’t enjoy watching this game in solitude. Some people watch it in bars but others use the occasion as a reason for a party. And thus was born the Super Bowl party. Somewhere along the line, the day took on a holiday-like atmosphere. The emotion is contagious, and in the weeks before the big day people ask one another, “Where are you going to watch the Super Bowl?”
There’s a type of status here and no one likes to admit that he or she isn’t hosting a party or hasn’t received an invitation to one. Even those females who have no clue about how the game is played feel that way too. But football for males is the be-all and end-all, and they love watching the Super Bowl game. With few exceptions, the females at these parties usually just hang out. They eat, socialize, serve the goodies, and help the hostess to clean up. Oh, yeah, and they manage a cheer when the home team wins.
Women tend to enjoy baseball a lot more. That game is slower-paced (since the pitcher can take forever to wind up his throwing arm) and the game is far less physical. Occasionally a baseball player may suffer an injury or suddenly be seized with a painful muscle cramp, but that’s about it. Unless he’s up at bat, or is a catcher, he doesn’t need to wear a helmet or a facemask. The main danger in that game is from getting hit with the ball. Unlike football, a baseball player isn’t likely to be tackled to the ground and possibly have 15 men jump on top of him.
While I understand the concept of football, my viewing enjoyment is somewhat limited, since I never seem to be able to keep my eye on the ball. Once that upright football is surrounded by all those massive men in uniform, it seems to disappear right before my eyes. If the football were red, it would give me a better shot of following it, especially once it’s off the ground. I never know who has the ball unless it’s in the air. When a player is running with the football, usually tucked in what he hopes is a secure position, under his arm, I lose sight of it. There are just too many men running around on that field with the numbered white lines, which I believe is known as a gridiron.
Nevertheless, my confusion aside, I like being invited to a Super Bowl party where I can socialize, nosh, and cheer when the Giants win. Like every other New Yorker, I was thrilled that the Giants were the victors. And, since I don’t have a death wish, I will never let anybody know that, as a transplanted Rhode Islander, my loyalties were somewhat divided. But there was no division of feelings about having another holiday. I’m all for that.

Hannah Berman lives in Woodmere and is a licensed real-estate broker associated with Marjorie Hausman Realty. She can be reached at Savtahannah@aol.com or 516-902-3733.