I’m writing this from my sister’s house in New Jersey today.
A gas-powered flame is flickering in the fireplace, a tree is festooned with white lights, presents are under the tree, and we’re ready to set to our gathering, including a lot of basketball, family talk, and seeing my one-year-old grand-nephew.
For many folks, the Christmas season, especially in the context of celebrating it with family, can be a fraught occasion. For me, this year, it’s a respite from the world at large.
A lot has been going on in the last month, and it didn’t help that I caught some sort of respiratory infection in mid-month that kept me away from a lot of the revelry I might have otherwise partook.
But I got a lot better in the last few days, and have been spending time with my beautiful, smart, and complicated family.
And yes, it’s complicated.
But I’m following the directive of my father, who, in one of the few moments of clarity in the midst of his eventual spiral of dementia, told me one day, “You have to stick together.”
Lord knows, I’ve tried. My siblings have faced a lot in our separate and distinct lives. We all wound up in six different states. My eldest died a decade ago. I have brothers in the deep South and on the West Coast, and my sisters live north of me.
It’s the next generation — two nephews, two nieces, and a toddling grandnephew who can read at the age of 1 — who are going to have to carry forward the messages and values which my parents taught us, even as the world is changing so incredibly quickly.
I pray that the world we leave them is more verdant, our society more tolerant, and opportunity more open.
Happy Christmas, everyone.