Christmas Memories
As a parent it is tough to do my job with one eye on the fact that the memories we create as a family will stand the test of time, but that is essentially what happens. I'm reminded of this because as Christmas Eve approaches I can't help but think of my grandparents, and parents and the role they all played to shape the images in my mind.
Grandma Fuzzy's pizza is always right there - I was one of the only one's who'd eat the anchovy pizza and I think of it each and every time I have a slice. Christmas Eve was about seeing cousins, unwrapping gifts, and later on in life, having a few beers.
Christmas Eve was also about midnight mass and I was about eight years old when my older brother John threw up on the priest's shoes as we re-visited the manger scene. I got yelled at for laughing, but whom among us wouldn't. Old Father Weiss was sloshing as he walked away, shaking his head in disgust.
I think of sneaking down early one year with my sister Corinne and opening all the presents hours before anyone else was supposed to be up. I also remember trying to re-wrap the gifts at the last minute, and getting busted anyway. If Iremember right, Corinne blamed it all on me.
I think of my mother and father sitting and watching us unwrap presents that had to put them in debt until about May. We never got too little, and as I got older, I felt bad about the sacrifices they made for us. My kids aren't old enough to have that problem yet.
I am also amazed that my mother took the time to wrap the gifts to the dog and sign the paper, "Love Santa." I'm not kidding either, as though the dog might read it and actually believe that Santa came down the chimney.
I remember my grandmother's fruitcake and how we played pool and the loser had to eat a piece - she was pissed when she found out the penalty for losing, but laughed eventually - wish she were around to make another hard cake of absolute tastelessness.
And the dinners - we always had too much food - and later too much beer - but as my mind drifts, there seemed to be just about the right amount of love and laughter, and faith and happiness. Hope I can do all that for my kids.
Grandma Fuzzy's pizza is always right there - I was one of the only one's who'd eat the anchovy pizza and I think of it each and every time I have a slice. Christmas Eve was about seeing cousins, unwrapping gifts, and later on in life, having a few beers.
Christmas Eve was also about midnight mass and I was about eight years old when my older brother John threw up on the priest's shoes as we re-visited the manger scene. I got yelled at for laughing, but whom among us wouldn't. Old Father Weiss was sloshing as he walked away, shaking his head in disgust.
I think of sneaking down early one year with my sister Corinne and opening all the presents hours before anyone else was supposed to be up. I also remember trying to re-wrap the gifts at the last minute, and getting busted anyway. If Iremember right, Corinne blamed it all on me.
I think of my mother and father sitting and watching us unwrap presents that had to put them in debt until about May. We never got too little, and as I got older, I felt bad about the sacrifices they made for us. My kids aren't old enough to have that problem yet.
I am also amazed that my mother took the time to wrap the gifts to the dog and sign the paper, "Love Santa." I'm not kidding either, as though the dog might read it and actually believe that Santa came down the chimney.
I remember my grandmother's fruitcake and how we played pool and the loser had to eat a piece - she was pissed when she found out the penalty for losing, but laughed eventually - wish she were around to make another hard cake of absolute tastelessness.
And the dinners - we always had too much food - and later too much beer - but as my mind drifts, there seemed to be just about the right amount of love and laughter, and faith and happiness. Hope I can do all that for my kids.
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