Merry Christmas!

   One Christmas Eve many years ago when my children were small, we returned from the annual Chtistmas gathering with extended family thirty or so miles north of where I live now. It was always a raucous evening, populated by four generations, music, great food, and liberal amounts of alcohol.

 The food ranged from venison if one of the step brothers-in-law had shot something, pheasant, goose, or sometimes turkey and or ham. My niece was and probably still is an exquisite pastry chef so my goal was to get to the dessert, as quickly and directly as I could. 

  The music ranged from country western ballads to Christmas carols to my sister's lovely Appalachian rendition of Barbara Allen. And no one could leave without my father's poetic stylings of The Hanging of Sam McGee which normally occurred late in the evening after most of the adults in the company were happily three sheets to the wind. (And if my sister could dig through the archives of her blog and find the story of one of those gatherings, it would make my Christmas Day.)

  In any case one particular Christmas Eve as we returned home to await Santa, we had the radio on to a station that was broadcasting NORAD from Kokomo. And NORAD was tracking Santa. My girls, at five and seven were still believers and when they heard that the sleigh and eight tiny reindeer had entered Indiana air space the anxiety blew the roof off the top of the car. Tearful entreaties were made to "Hurry Home Daddy or we'll miss Santa!" We made it home, and Santa made it too.

  Those little girls are now women grown integrating their Christmas customs with those of their husband's families. But tonight they are safely in their own homes in states that aren't Indiana It was decided that the pilgrimage home was unsafe this year. Likewise, my sister who is normally in charge of cooking all things Christmas remains safely home in yet another state. I profoundly miss them all.

  When the lines of my family came to the United States, one escaping hanging in Ireland and the other conscientious objectors to serving in the Tsar's armies in the Ukraine, it was highly unlikely they would ever see those they loved again. But they came anyway. And so it was with millions upon millions of our immigrant ancestors.

  When my grandfather shipped out to World War I and then again to World War II there was no guarantee he would see those he loved again. When anyone who serves in our armed services is sent overseas to a hot war, there is the unspoken deal they have made with themselves and with the country they so proudly serve --to keep the United States safe, even if it means never seeing home or their loved ones again. 

  So it seems to me that the least I can do is to spend this Christmas alone so that there will be many more Christmases, Thanksgivings, birthdays, and holidays that my entire family can participate in down the road. That is a sacrifice I am willing to make and it pales in comparison to the sacrifices my ancestors made and those who protect our country make. This is not a big deal. When you love people you do what is best for them. 

  So on this Christmas Eve I wish you a very Merry Christmas, no matter what your situation. Join me in raising a glass of whatever you are drinking to 2021 and a gathering of the clans.

Now more than ever: Sláinte! To the health of you and yours. Have a safe holiday.