Category Archives: Holiday

The Holiday Card 2015

Without fanfare or fireworks, without hype or hoopla, I humbly present the Holiday Card for 2015. Every now and then I need a year off the crazy heights of provocation and bloody mayhem that sometimes form the combustible release of certain cards. This is one of those low-key years, and I couldn’t be happier. Simple, safe, and further proof that I have no ax to grind. Happy Holidays to all. This one’s safe for the kids and the fridge! Next year I will return to being offensive – that’s a promise.

Until then, a look-see at previous offenses:

Holiday Card 2004 – Snow Queen

Holiday Card 2005 – Disco Ball Jock

Holiday Card 2006 – Jesus Christ Pose

Holiday Card 2007 – Very Bad Santa

Holiday Card 2008 – Soft & Somber

Holiday Card 2009 – Winged Fur Muff

Holiday Card 2010 – The Wedding Coat

Holiday Card 2011 – Most Shocking Card Ever

Holiday Card 2012 – Eat Your Holiday Heart Out

Holiday Card 2013 – Childhood Nostalgia

Holiday Card 2014 – Let It Snow

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Merrymaking Misfits

We were a motley band of merrymaking misfits, and we assembled at the Boston condo to celebrate the season in festive fashion. One of my very first holiday parties, dubbed rather unoriginally ‘A Festive Gathering’ was in full swing. The happy drone of a party at its height – one of the most glorious sounds in the world, and the reason I do it all – was just beginning to crest, and my incongruous band of friends, co-workers and acquaintances mingled in unexpected bonhomie.

We spilled out onto the rickety fire escape off the bathroom window, guests perched precariously on slatted steel, smoking their cigarettes and who knows what else – I was largely removed from the debauchery of that little bathroom, sadly. We laughed and shouted and sipped at cocktails from plastic glasses, beneath lighted garland and oversize Christmas ornaments hanging from the eve of the wet bar.

Most of us were not yet at the quarter century mark, our youthful exuberance and carefree countenance a sign of our early twenty-something times. We had not yet been saddled with mortgages and babies and jobs with health insurance. On this cold December night the warmth of the condo, the joy of a few good friends, and the promise of romance – ever in the air for a single twenty-two-year-old – was all we needed. It didn’t matter that we were all crammed inside a stuffy little one bedroom condo, or that the oven and its paltry supply of appetizers necessitated the opening of all the windows – we were just glad to be alive, glad to be together beneath the watchful eye of the John Hancock Tower.

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Holiday Decorations Not Seen Since the 90’s

The last time I decorated the Boston condo for the holidays was way back in the late 90’s. Yes, it was another millennium ago. It must have been for a Christmas party I was hosting when I lived in Boston at the time. Since then, I haven’t been at the condo enough to justify any sort of holiday decorating, but that changed this year when I got back into the spirit for the Holiday Stroll (recap of that is forthcoming). It will also come into play this weekend, when I head back to Boston to host a Holiday Children’s Hour for Suzie’s and Alissa’s children. [Operative word: hour.] I’ve been told it’s ridiculous to expect kids to adhere to a deadline of an hour, but that’s why kids are so unruly. No follow-up or follow-through. I can do both. Not that I plan on it. This holiday season I’m surprisingly mellow. (It may have something to do with this persistent cough that I can’t shake. You’d be surprised how much less I care about when my sole goal is to make it through a work meeting without coughing my lungs up. Perspective.)

This time the decorating has definitely put me in the Christmas spirit, and I’m actually looking forward to having a couple of excited kids opening gifts and drinking hot cocoa (with mini-marshmallows if Suzie remembers to bring them) in the condo for an hour. It’s a cozy space, and I’ve decked it out as splendidly (if simply) as the small environs allow. Maybe we’ll do more next year, for now this will have to suffice.

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Lucy or Charlie?

What do you do when the world thinks you’re a Lucy, but in your heart you know you’re really Charlie Brown? That’s the existential question that goes through my head every time ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ airs. Don’t get me wrong, I can well understand why some may think I’m a Lucy. The way she continually, and mercilessly, teases Chuck is a thing of inspiration. Not only the way she does it, but the way she takes such joy and glee in it. Giving a kid the hope that she’s not going to move that football again – sigh – my heart flutters at the unrelenting cruelty of it all.

But beneath that Lucy veneer, my heart secretly empathizes with Mr. Brown, with the under-dogs who fervently and earnestly believe in the good of the world, the hope that people will, eventually, do the right and just thing. The way he believed in the Great Pumpkin. The way he put his heart into his little Christmas tree. The way the world crushes him time and again. There’s something noble in that. Noble and heartbreaking.

Truth is, I’m not Lucy or Charlie. I’m not even that talented genius Schroeder.

I’m Snoopy.

Completely unconcerned, unmoved, and unimpressed by the world. Living a charmed, well-cared-for and carefree existence. (And often in the dog-house.) That’s closer to my lucky life than some mean girl or downtrodden boy.

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Poof! I’m a Bear!

In my heart of hearts, I’ve always felt a strong affinity to bears. Maybe it was Winnie-the-Pooh who started it all when I was a child, or the comfort of a few stuffed bears that remain with me to this day, but whatever the cause I love a cuddly bear. When I saw this fun onesie at Primark in Boston, I scooped it up for a fall day like the one captured here.

Originally, this was a photo shoot for a possible Holiday Card, but I opted for something even more spare and simple. (A guy needs a year to recover from all that blood and powder.) These shots, while fun, didn’t quite capture the simplicity of the season that I wanted for this go-round, so here they are for your browsing enjoyment and laughter. I mean, I look absolutely ridiculous, and I absolutely love it.

It was also immensely fun to prance around the backyard in this furry one-piece, which reminds me of those sleepers I used to wear as a kid, the kind that came with slightly-rubberized feet for a grip on ungainly slippery floors.

They embodied coziness during the holidays – and all winter for that matter. When zipped up to the top, they trapped and kept body heat, providing a portable little source of warmth for young boys who needed to be mobile while racing around the cool rooms of a drafty house.

For someone whom most assume to be fashionably against such items of clothing, I happened to love those sleepers as a kid. My brother and I wore them for some of my happiest holiday memories: watching Christmas cartoons, racing downstairs to a pile of gifts on Christmas morning, staring up at the twinkling Christmas tree before going to bed, or waiting around in the kitchen for Christmas cookies to come out of the oven.

No matter what kind of show I put on here and in the rest of my life, happiness will always trump fashion for me. Let that be our little secret.

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A Favorite Thing

This weekend marks the Holiday Stroll 2015, whereby my friend Kira and I make the Boston shopping rounds in celebration of the season. I’ve plotted out an itinerary and map of the route we’ll be taking, and I’ve selected a couple of movies we may watch at the end of our journey. (Hey, I’m a Virgo. I enjoy a carefully-thought-out plan. And there’s tons of wiggle room for last-minute changes.) We’ve made this trek for a few years now, and it’s a tradition that has quickly become my favorite.

We’ll do some shopping for our friends and family, but mostly the weekend is about spending holiday time with a good friend. It begins in the South End, traverses Copley, meanders through Beacon Hill, stops in Chinatown for lunch, crawls through the crowds of Downtown Crossing and Quincy Market, then heads into the seaport area for the first time. It’s a good spell of walking, but it’s a labor of love.

I’m also planning on making the condo a bit of a holiday haven. To that end, and for an upcoming holiday hour with some children, I’ll be decorating the space for the first time since 1999. Back then I was living there full-time, and we had a holiday party for which I decked those tiny halls. This year, I’m hoping to add some coziness and charm to the atmosphere of our stroll, to make it a little more special in honor of a belated birthday celebration for Kira, and our little tradition.

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Hush-A-Bye Wink-A-Bye Doo: Holiday Memories

 Red is the color of Santa’s sleigh,

Green are the pine trees along the way,

Gold is the sunshine on Christmas Day…

Hush-a-bye, wink-a-bye, doo…

Thus began a Christmas song at what was my first or second grade concert at McNulty School. I had been nabbed to sing the opening solo line due to my stellar coloratura (to be fair, I think it was my shiny bangs that won me the hardly-coveted role, but whatever). At that moment in time, I wasn’t afraid of audiences or watchful eyes, so when we performed it to a gymnasium filled with grades 1-6, I sang my little heart out. There was no shame in my game yet, and the world had not yet enforced any on me. It was probably the last time I’d feel such wonderful freedom.

I forget who was tapped to sing the second pine trees verse (I’m pretty sure it was Lynn or Laura) but I distinctly remember that the sunshine line went rather ill-fittingly to a girl named Crystal, who had a perpetual snarl on her scowling face, and who was never very nice to me. Sunshine my ass. For Christmas, however, I did my best to suspend such evil thoughts, trying hard to put myself in Crystal’s shoes and seeking out some silver lining in her otherwise-awful countenance. Whenever I think ill of someone, I try to picture them at their happiest, with a grand smile betraying some hidden joy they find in the world, and it’s a little more difficult to think badly of them. A little. When she sang her sunshine line, wearing a skirt that was two sizes too big for her, I realized that she probably didn’t have as lucky a life as I did, and I started taking her snarl and her coldness not as a personal affront, but as the way she had to deal with an unfair world. It was the closest I could get to humane holiday behavior, and as we stood up before the entire school, I wanted to protect her – and to protect us – as a united front.

Those holiday concerts were the last time I felt comfortable in front of an audience. I had already started to “act” stereotypically gay (a lisp – cured by the application of peanut butter to the roof of my mouth by the linguistic teacher – didn’t help) and my over-the-top theatrics during these holiday shows must have been met with cringes by more than a few parents. I didn’t notice then, but I would see it soon enough.

On that day, I was just singing, ‘Red is the color of Santa’s sleigh’ and holding up a little wooden sled painted in red. I was trying to make my peace with a crabby girl named Crystal. Most of all, I was looking forward to the coziness and warmth that Christmas always brought.

This year’s holiday season is just getting underway, and I’m already feeling the excitement. No more Scrooge theatrics – I’m going to enjoy it from start to finish.

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A Christmas Fondly Forgotten

If you follow my ranting and raving on FaceBook or Twitter, you may have guessed that I had a rather awful Christmas. (Sample post: It will always marvel me how family can treat strangers with such complete grace, but not their own.) For the first time in my entire life I did not spend Christmas Eve with my family. In truth I haven’t felt at home there for years. Slowly that house has become less of a home to me, turning into some junkyard for the physical remnants of my brother’s broken marriage and a free-for-all for the questionable design he’s advanced for the once-elegant surroundings. Yet part of me still felt, or hoped, that there was some small part that did still belong to me, and to which I still belonged. When they took the last bit of space that I felt could be mine, a final bastion of safety and security in a world that never felt safe or secure for someone like me, I felt lost and unmoored.  It may seem childish and stupid to hang onto something like a childhood bedroom, but think about it this way:

For someone who has never felt like he truly belonged, taking that one thing away – the last bit of proof that he lived there, that he mattered – is not a frivolous thing. For someone who’s always doubted his relevance in the family, and who has consistently made that known in self-destructive gestures overt and covert, there is something terribly diabolic about it – about erasing the first place he ever called home without giving him a chance to say goodbye. It’s careless at best, cruel at worst, and hurtful no matter how you want to paint it.

For those reasons, I couldn’t bring myself to go back there. Knowing that my old room would not be mine would have been too sad. I’m not ready for that yet. But if I learned one thing this Christmas it’s that new traditions must be started. We have to make our own families. We have to start again and start anew. That’s what the New Year is for, and after I mourned what I could not control, I felt the dawn of something else. Gratefulness. To my parents, for what they had given me. The silver lining and blessing of this new time, a feeling I’d never felt before: freedom. When the regret and the sadness and the hurt began to subside, I felt free.

I know what’s it like to be unwanted, to not be missed. I know the onerous obligation that people feel toward family – toward their own children sometimes – and I know that so much of what we as humans do is because it’s what we’re supposed to do. When you give that up, when you accept that there is a relief and an ease when you’re not there, it makes leaving that much easier. Better than that, it opens up a new world of opportunity, of freedom, of love.

The early part of my childhood was happy, and good, and it’s that which I’ll hold close to my heart. Hanging onto a bedroom at this stage of my life was stupid. It’s time for me to grow up. I see that now. The darkness which hovered over that house has lifted. My shadow goes with me.

I won’t go back.

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Christmas in Florida ~ Part 3

It wouldn’t be Christmas, even in Florida, without a bit of Christmas tree splendor and Santa-sightings. It was a bit odd to see it all played out against a backdrop of palm trees and an aquamarine ocean, where the temperature hovered around 80 degrees and the wardrobe called for shorts and sandals, but somehow Christmas found a way.

In the hotel I was staying at, this sumptuously-decorated scene greeted guests (along with a troll-like Santa I couldn’t quite bring myself to post).

While it felt different, it didn’t feel wrong, and in a year where things were shifting, it opened up my eyes to new possibilities, new traditions, and new ways of celebrating the season.

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Christmas in Florida ~ Part 2

It takes at least a day and a half before the realization of a vacation sets in. Work worries, family obligations, and the routine planning of this website and that life must all exit the head, and they do – but it takes that day and a half. Then the secrets of calm and restful ways are revealed, slowly at first, until the full bloom of a sunny beach in Florida unfurls, lined with sea shells and dotted with tropical blossoms.

The ocean sparkles, crests shimmering with the reflected diamonds of sunlight. Sand pipers walk hurriedly along the shore, while flocks of gulls soar overhead. The majesty of the sea is present as much in its quiet beauty as in its tumultuous power. For now, the sea slumbers, and a very pretty slumber it is.

For a native of landlocked upstate New York, the Florida coast is a marvelous wonder. A long line of exotic artifacts lines the lapping edge of salt water. Sponges and shells and the dried carcass of a catfish all present themselves to my childish delight. Warnings of it being stingray season – “Please shuffle when walking in the water!” – fill my mind with boyish excitement. I still get a thrill from new scenes of nature, and they are in ample supply here.

The Gulf Coast is a revelation. Somehow it feels more tranquil, sporting richer colors, more intense skies, and a tug at the heart that only beauty could pull off.  There is also a variety of bird-life that inhabits the water and the air, dancing along the shoreline, preening in the sun, and tip-toeing through the sand. I’m held rapt by birds I’d never seen before, entranced by their exotic features, and the way some of their beaks match the color around their eyes. I could spend a day just watching the birds here.

At the end of a pier, a pelican teases beneath wooden slats, peering up at me while enjoying the bit of shade from an unrelenting sun. I wait for the elusive creature to swim out before grabbing the only photo I could.

Then there was this bird – a Bird-of-Paradise. These beauties grow outside here; a treat to see, as I’ve only ever encountered them in a greenhouse setting. The flowers of Florida can be found in bloom at all times of the year, so I captured a few more.

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Christmas in Florida ~ Part 1

The notion of spending the holidays  in sunny Florida has never been one that appealed to me until this year, when new family directions and other nonsense has me screaming to get away and start my own holiday traditions. Perhaps next year… In the meantime, I’m putting up a few Florida posts from my recent trip to the Sunshine State, because I’m all about crazy juxtaposition, and it doesn’t get crazier than Santa and palm trees.

Here is just a hint of what is to come…

PS – Merry Christmas.

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I’ll Light A Candle Here in the Dark

A quick good-night quote from a very wise man on this Christmas Eve:

“There is no doubt that it is around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human, are created, strengthened and maintained.” – Winston S. Churchill

And sometimes, one must humbly add, destroyed.

“A few years ago I spent Christmas and New Years alone. No family. No friends. No gifts. A little tree with some lights on it. A small Christmas dinner (in a can). Far from home but with a lot of good memories of it. I didn’t feel too sad because I knew things would change for the better because I knew I would change them for the better. It was all up to me, not fate, or luck (although understand that those are big players in this game too). If I didn’t like where I was at that moment I couldn’t feel sorry myself and blame someone else, play the victim. I was the one who put myself there and I knew I was the one that had to change. So I did. See, misery is never very far away from us (it lurks around every dark corner) but neither is joy. You’ve got to roll with that black horse when it visits, ride that bitch out if you can but you’ve got to enjoy the hell out of the other too, when it chances to come your way. Above all, you’ve got to recognize joy when it shows up to dance with you and, sorry, that’s not nearly as easy as it sounds. You’ve got to fight tooth and nail in this life to try and be as happy as you can with the circumstances you’ve been given. You’ve got to fight with every inch of your being for that and grit your teeth and stick out your chin while you’re doing it too because although without a doubt it’s the right fight to be in, it’s going to be hard sometimes. So hard that maybe you’ll be blind to everything else. Along the way however, always remember one thing: even though there are people out there in the world who will take the heart right out of you…there are those who will put it right back in again (let them). Learn to recognize who they are because that’s something really worth knowing. But it’s up to you in the end. It’s up to you to embrace the wonders in this life and to deny the darkness (and there are plenty of both). Be strong, be brave, be kind, be noble and above all, slay your dragons and keep on moving. Don’t stop. And finally, even if happiness forgets you for a little while, never completely forget about it. It’s there waiting for the other to pass. Even in your darkest hour don’t ever doubt that for a second.” ~ Noel James Riggs

~ OR ~

“I’ll cast a spell that you can’t undo, til you wake up and you find that you love me too…” ~ Madonna

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A Holy Night

It wasn’t the presents on Christmas morning, or the magical anticipation of Christmas eve that I recall most when I think of Christmas – it was the ride to church. Yes, church. That obligatory rite of passage before any holiday, the bane of my childhood existence (I’ll tell a few altar boy horror stories later), and the only thing standing in the way of carefree enjoyment of any season. Yet on Christmas eve I didn’t mind it as much, mostly for the ride to and from mass.

We’d be together in the car – and it was so long ago that the music was produced not by CD or cassette tape but by an 8-track. On that evening we’d always listen to ‘O Holy Night’ – and sometimes we sang along.

Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine,
Oh night, when Christ was born

I still remember some of the Christmas lights along the way – the elegant stars that studded the facade of Paul Tonko’s house, the traditional colored strand that wound its way around a wreath at the bottom of Northampton, and the splendor of an entire yard and manger scene on a particular house where Market Street met Romeyn.

Safe in our warm station wagon, with Dad at the wheel and Mom in the front seat, my brother and I peered out the windows at the lights along the way. Somehow I knew then what most adults had already forgotten – the true meaning of Christmas. It wasn’t the gifts, it wasn’t the Grinch, it wasn’t the hustle and bustle and excitement of the season. It was love, and peace, and a family that was still relatively unrocked by the world.

Merry Christmas, my friends.

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home! ~ Charles Dickens

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The Holiday Stroll 2014

We almost didn’t make it this year. After missing out on a planned stroll earlier in the month, it looked like Kira and I might not get our schedules together to do our annual Holiday Stroll/Shopping Extravaganza, but this past weekend we got our shit in sync and made it happen.

We began by going a different route – down Columbus Avenue instead of heading straight to Charles Street and Beacon Hill. The day dawned brilliantly, but the blue sky soon gave way to clouds. As long as it didn’t rain we’d be fine. A wind began to pick up as we made our way down Columbus, stopping for a quick bite at Cafe Madeleine.

A few steps down from the cafe stands the Luke Adams Gifting Co. It was there that I found the perfect gift for Andy, which started off our last-minute shopping excursion on the right foot (or fin, to give a small hint as to what was procured). This locally-owned company is a neat addition to the South End, offering unique items you don’t see anywhere else, all with threads of wit and whimsy running through them.

We rounded the corner onto Mass Ave., where we picked up our pace in the face of a cold wind. A decent pho restaurant -Pho Basil – stands midway to where we were headed, but it was a tad too early to partake of the hearty broth (that was yet to come.) We’d only just begun, and passed by with a slight twinge of regret – it was so cold that a bowl of pho would have been wonderful, no matter how early. Still, we trudged onward, to Newbury Street, where Newbury Comics afforded Kira the only gift left on her list – a CD for her youngest daughter. Two down and only a few to go, and the day was still young.

 

Previous holiday strolls with Kira have always brightened my heart, as she is one of my dearest friends. Last year’s was so enjoyable that I turned it into a two-part post (Part 1 and Part 2.) Far more than the shopping and the city, it’s the time spent with an old, comfortable friend that I treasure most about these mini-adventures. It’s been much too long since I’ve seen her, so this was a nice mini-reunion of sorts, and I made her promise to do it again next month, when winter will surely fan the flames of loneliness. On this day, we were all smiles and holiday excitement, and as we browsed along Newbury and Boylston, it finally started to feel like Christmas. A quick stop at Crate & Barrel completed what I needed for Andy, while it dawned on us that this was the busiest shopping day of the year.

We mostly managed to avoid that, vowing to not even go into any place that had a line twenty people deep. (No place was that crowded, thankfully.) I looked in Marc Jacobs, hoping to find something odd for Suzie, but no such luck. Cutting back over to Boylston, we headed up past the Boston Public Garden and toyed with the idea of lunching at The Four Seasons. Since Chinatown was just a few blocks away however, where our favorite pho place was, we forged on, skirting the edge of Downtown Crossing and finding a table in the crowded restaurant.

Nothing warms the heart and soul better than a bowl pho. I’d introduced Kira to it last year, at this very place, and we dug into the spicy broth gratefully. It was the perfect midday respite from a rather bustling bit of shopping. I honestly didn’t realize how much there was left to do, boldly and rather inaccurately boasting myself mostly done a few weeks ago. Now we sat in Pho Pasteur and rested our weary feet, laughing over old memories, and pausing to make this new one.

Bracing ourselves for the cold with one final flourish of tea, we headed back out, into the maelstrom of Downtown Crossing and that beacon of consumerism, Macy’s. I was looking for myself, but remembering a certain gift I already bought the night before (a scent I’ll describe a bit later), I listened to Kira’s advice and gave up an expensive coat. Instead, as I made her promise shortly after we began the day, she was to pick out something for herself. On a day when we were buying things for other people, I said we should do something for ourselves. (There was one Christmas when her family was so caught up in what they wanted and what they were getting that no one – not husband or children – had bothered to get Kira a gift. My heart always hurts for her when I think of that.) This year I helped her pick out a bracelet for herself, and once that was found we walked through Downtown Crossing a little happier. If you can’t take care of yourself, how can you take care of another?

Somehow we ended up in Fanueil Hall, where I did finally find something silly for Suzie, and where we paused for a few obligatory cookies from the Boston Chipyard while looking at that enormous Christmas tree they’ve erected there. Still full from the pho, we carried on, walking away from the crowds to the Liberty Hotel – another traditional stop for us. The Christmas trees there hung upside-down from the vaulted ceiling, and we slumped into two high-backed chairs to get a third wind for the final stretch of the day. The sun went down as we watched a group assemble for a wedding. Ladies in sparkling evening dresses and rotund men in tuxedoes milled about the bar area, while other travelers waited for their room to be ready. There’s no better sport than people-watching with a close friend.

When we returned outside, it was dark, but there were holiday lights around every corner, and the shop windows of Charles Street were decorated with holiday gusto. This was the cozy moment that I sought every year, this was the time when the magic of Christmas made itself felt and known. We stopped in a paper store, mulling over cards and stationery, then walked down into a Tibetan store, where Kira once found her warmest pair of gloves. At this point we were merely browsing, extending our time with each other, delaying the end of the day. A hot chocolate at Starbucks would be our final bit of sustenance.

As we walked back toward Copley, the Public Garden on our left, we looked into the magnificent brownstones along the way. Christmas trees blinked and sparkled from some of the windows, while garlands and wreaths adorned many of the doors. Though the night was young, it was time for Kira to catch her train, and us to end this holiday stroll. We hugged by Back Bay Station, and I said goodbye to a friend. We headed back to our families, but I realized that this may just be my happiest Christmas memory.

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Holiday Excursion with My Brother

My brother and I didn’t always get along. Just a year-and-a-half apart, we were probably too close in age to be much more than adversaries, and too far apart to be as tight as twins. For a while, in the dim dwindling days of my high school career, we barely spoke. In fairness to both of us, we were about as different as two brothers could be, so the fact that we didn’t actually kill each other is a Christmas miracle in itself.

Once I went away to college, however, the distance helped our relationship, and time healed the perceived hurts we each felt the other inflicted. On my first or second Christmas home from Brandeis, we somehow ended up volunteering to pick up the family Christmas tree, so we hopped in the Blazer and made our way to Bob’s Tree Farm way out in Galway.

The day was bright and brisk, the sky a vivid blue, and backed by a strong wind. We recalled our shared childhood memories of going to get the tree as little boys. There is only one other person in this word who knows exactly what it was like growing up in my house, and that’s my brother. That’s a bond that can never be broken. On that December day, I started to understand that.

We arrived at Bob’s and got out. The smell of freshly-cut pine, of Christmas, brought a smile to my face, and I think my brother felt it too. We walked around a bit, not wanting to rush the moment. He stood up a few trees and we examined them, coming to an agreement on a fair specimen. The wind was cutting, and we squinted in the falling sunlight. Somehow it got tied loosely to the top of the car, and we were back on the road.

My brother was driving, and as gusts of wind pummeled the car I looked in the rearview mirror to see the tree swinging wildly back and forth. Before I could say anything it rolled off the car completely and into a ditch by the side of the road. My brother’s shocked face, and the image of the tree growing distant in the background, made me laugh. A lot. He backed up and by the time we reached the tree I was hysterical. He kept saying it wasn’t funny, but I could see he was trying to keep from smiling.

I hadn’t laughed that much with him since we were kids.

We got the tree righted, and better-secured than before, and made it back home without further incident. To this day, the memory still makes me chuckle. It was the beginning of our way back to each other, and the start of several holiday traditions that we have managed to maintain over the years. As strange as it may sound, there’s no one else I’d rather have as a brother.

 

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