Growing up, Sundays were time for my dad and I to bundle up and head to the Meadowlands. Sure, throughout my childhood the Jets were nothing to write home about, but he had season tickets and we went. One of my fondest memories will always be the game my dad and I went to in the dead of winter, easily the coldest day of the year. I don't remember who the Jets played, I don't remember the outcome of the game. What I do remember is that we layered up in so much warm clothes that we were barely able to move our extremities. I remember the thermoses of soup my mom made and the hand warmers, foot warmers, and even padded seat warmers she sent us with. I remember climbing all the way up to the top of the corner end zone section where our seats were practically the farthest from the players in the whole stadium. I remember it all because it was one of those bonding experiences with my dad that has and always will stay with me. It was hysterical. We didn't stay all game. But we went. We suited up and supported Gang Green like I have for 22 years.
