The Brotherhood of the Christmas Pants

On Christmas Eve, I wore these pants... the red ones... and I did so freely and without mental reservation or purpose of evasion.

And so did my brother, my uncle, four of my five cousins*, and my two brothers-in-law.

We all find our ways to rebel our elder generation... or turn into them.

It all started in the Ford Administration: That time of sideburns, "Sidecars," and sour mix.  Dad and Uncle Jack used to wear the goofiest pants on Christmas Eve.  Dad was all about the plaid (my favorite color).  And at some point, Uncle Jack happened upon corduroy... loud corduroy.  For years hence, The Five of Us (my sibs and I) and The Five of Them (our cousins) used to mock them.

Now we wear them. 

Thanks to Steve, we've all been in style and in these cords for about four or five years.  The latest addition was this year, when new bro-in-law Rob was initiated into the Honourable Order. 

Combined, we had four pair of Green/Canes, three pair of Red/Wreaths, one pair of Blue/Holly and one out-of-circulation pair of Screamin' Green/Sleighs.  Those would be Uncle Jack's.  He's got some deal with the Smithsonian and the folks at duPont that keeps them preserved.  Combined, we also had a blood/alcohol level that was off the charts!!

"Some day," I told my eldest son.  "You, too will act like us.  You may not dress like us, but the gene pool being the way it is, you will act like us."

"Can't I just get a tattoo instead," he asked.

Come to think of it, with a tattoo, he'd be much less in danger of getting beat up if stopping for gas on the way home. 

"Hmm.  Let me think that over, son."

Merry Christmas!

(*One Blue/Holly cousin was absent.)