Saturday, December 24, 2005
We spend every Christmas Eve with Dad's brothers. He has eight of them. And they are all married with several children each. And some grandchildren. It is huge and it is loud and it is Christmas.
[When I say "we" and "every" I'm glossing over the fact, that, of course, not everyone can make every Christmas Eve. Three of Dad's brothers couldn't make it this year. And this is the first time in several years that I've been able to make it. The last few Christmas Eves found me in Michigan with N's family, the ____________s. No one mentions N, but everyone asks, "How is Chicago?" which seems like the safest and best catch-up question. I answer, sincerely, that Chicago is very good.]
Uncle Pat shows a video slideshow he's working on, of the brothers as children.
Uncle Joe: Well there's baby Ron.
Dad: What a cute little shit I was.
Uncle Mike: Look at those heartbreakers. We look like the Beatles.
Afterward, standing behind several balding heads, Uncle Paul says, "You know, from the back, we're all starting to look the same."
