Merry Christmas everyone.

I remember that Christmas many years ago. As kids we lived in a rented house in Scranton PA. A nice house with a fenced in backyard that had an inverted U-shaped bar for a clothes line, only one, the other broken and removed long before we moved in. There were trees on the right and an old flower covered fence on the left. The part of the backyard near the house was covered in flagstone. We used to swing on that bar like monkeys. My older brother Tom, by two years, and I were very close, or so I thought. One day we set up a chair near the bar and jumped from the chair to the bar to swing. Tom kept moving the chair further and further away and being older, had no trouble jumping to the bar. Egged on by Tom I made a valiant effort, missed the bar, and landed flat on my face on the flagstone patio. I sat up, somewhat dazed and brushed what I thought were small leaves from my face. When I saw the blood on my hand I started screaming for my mother. I was just a little kid after all. She scolded Tom and cleaned me up and soothed me as only a mother can.

But with the experience of that backyard fall and other similar experiences it was no surprise, or should not have been, about what Tom did on that Christmas morning so many years ago. We had a big tree set up in the corner of the dinning room covered with all the lights and decorations my mother saved from year to year. I especially liked the bubbling candle lights. Back then we saved everything from year to year. Big light bulbs on heavy wire were the rule of the day. No small 100 light strings with tiny bulbs for $5 back then. You saved everything, couldn't afford not too. It must have been a good year for my father because there were lots of presents for Tom and I under the tree. Because we were so close in age, almost twins, each of us had the same gifts, wrapped in the same wrapping paper. Under normal circumstances we would rush down in the morning, gulp down breakfast, and then everyone would gather by the tree and open presents.

But Tom got up very early that Christmas morning and snuck down to the dining room and opened all of his presents. Then he opened all of mine too. Then he played with all of the toys and broke some of them. Later he insisted that the broken toys were mine and that his were all OK. My parents didn't buy that story and Tom was stuck with the broken toys. I remember being upset by it for awhile but the thrill of having the new toys soon took away the sting of not opening my own presents.

Christmas is a time for children and the time for the family to get together. And it is the time to remember the past.

Merry Christmas everyone.