Wanting To Go Home For The Holidays…

November 24th, 2017

When I was growing up, we had the best holidays. To me, they were almost magical. My parents did it up. They did it right. My Aunt Sue and Uncle Vic would come down from New York and my cousins from New Jersey would come, too. My cousins from North Philadelphia would come and it was just one big feast with sometimes up to 26 people. The table would extend out into the living room. The back porch would serve as a place for the food and the pies and all things alcohol. My mom was an amazing cook. She would cook the whole week of Thanksgiving. Pecan pies, apple pies, coconut custard pies, turkey, sometimes lasagna, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, gravy, the never ending food that started with appetizers. Crab balls, punch with sorbet and champagne..it was the best.

She would set the place settings a day before and my father would help to extend the table. The lights would be dimmed and the candles on the table would be lit. Christmas music would start on Thanksgiving Day. At some point, I would run to the bathroom as a child and dump the whole glass of milk into the sink and throw the green beans in the toilet. It was inevitable, as I loathed both milk and anything green. I would put them in a napkin and just run on up the stairs to get rid of them. It worked until my cousin told my mom one year what I was doing. Thank you! You know who you are.

When you are older, you miss those traditions. I haven’t seen or felt those traditions in a long time. I can still smell our house when I was a child at Christmas. You can go to other peoples houses, even some families houses and it just doesn’t feel the same. Where is the Christmas music? Where is the bay window? Where is my dad’s wonderful laugh? That bellowing laugh as he sat at the head of the table with his arms crossed over each other laughing. Laughing so hard and loud. When my dad laughed, the world laughed with him.

Most of the family members I mention are gone. My father, my grandparents, my sister, my Aunt Sue, my Uncle Vic, my cousin Matt and now my mom. Even though my mom hadn’t hosted a Thanksgiving dinner in a long time, she was still here. She was the link to all of those traditions that were so special. She made them special and now she is gone. It’s a hard day. A hard holiday season without that missing link.

I love those traditions. They are the fondest of memories that I carry with me and rarely can anyone top them.

For Christmas when you would walk into our house, it was decorated from top to bottom and not with anything cheap. My parents, yet again, did it right. The house was aglow with lights and candles, Christmas balls that were handmade by my Aunt Phyllis just for us and the smell of cookies baking. Lights all along the tops of the trees outside and the Christmas tree that my father would put up in the living room (a fake one) and then sometimes a living one out in the porch or in the basement. The banister was decorated with lights, greens and stockings. My father loved Christmas. He loved it and he made sure to make it special for the family. I was lucky enough to have a dad who looked forward to watching the Grinch and Scrooge just as much as me. Watching Scrooge with Alistair Sims was a holiday tradition. My father had a good job, a stressful job and yet all stress would dissipate as he slipped into the spirit of Christmas.

One year he put our stereo and speakers in the bay window that was wide open when it was freezing and snowing and played as loud as can be for all neighbors to hear, “Barbara Streisand’s Christmas Album” and then came Nat King Cole. He was Christmas. Father Christmas. He would have some egg nog with rum in his hand and the neighbors would come over and say, “Frank, what are you doing?” And he would offer them some egg nog, some whiskey, some laughter, some Thomas holiday cheer.

Christmas was magical. I sit here typing this with a tear in my eye. Many tears actually. It’s been 5 weeks since my mom passed and I miss her. I miss her pies, her turkey, her punch, the way she made the house smell of the holiday season. I miss both of them. May they be at peace, may they be free of pain and sorrow. And may they know that their traditions, their joy and cheer and love during the holiday season will always be one of the best things that they gave to me. The best gift of all.