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Merry Christmas, my friends.

Today is a warm day. The sun is here and there and partly sunny is the prediction. I have gifts to open. I have my Christmas dinner to eat. It will be a good day.

When I was a kid, we used to go to the earliest mass we could. We wanted to spend the day with our new toys, games and books. My brother and I walked in the darkness of the early morning to the first mass of the day. There were no cars. Some houses were lit. I remember our footsteps echoed. We talked in whispers. The mass was on a side altar. It was only the priest, no altar boys. The few people in attendance were old ladies in heavy coats, gloves and small hats. They had all their missals. They mumbled the replies to the priest. There was no sermon so the mass was quick. It was light when we walked home.

Everyone was up. My sisters were playing with their new toys. I sat on the floor looking through my gifts again. I ate some chocolate from my stocking. It was the perfect Christmas breakfast.

Dinner was always special on Christmas Day. When I was really young, it was turkey again, but I didn’t mind as we only ate turkey twice a year. Turkey was sort of the dinner which kept on giving as the turkey lasted from roast to soup. When I was older, we had fancier meals. We usually had a roast beef. We always had mashed potatoes.

In the afternoon we went to my grandparents’ house. Everyone did. I can close my eyes and still see that house. On Christmas Day, the house was raucous. My mother was the third of eight and most of her family had multiple kids. Kids ran up and down the stairs from the living room to the kitchen. My grandmother had presents for all of us. Wrapping paper filled the back room floor. It was a wonderful day. We all usually fell asleep on the drive home.

My Christmas memories are filled with family. My parents are still part of each Christmas. They are the best memory.