My brother
didn’t know, but he helped to raise a Vulcan, a tiny shemale who had no sense
of self nor well-being, nor any ego to speak of, just a drive toward
perfection, the only reason she was born human in the first place. I often try
but fail to imagine what life would be without him. He told me stories and taught me most of the holiday songs I know. His sense of imagination made the world seem bigger and more beautiful, especially at Christmas time.
I grew up in a house, a house that could have been anywhere
in the world. It was surrounded by vegetation—fruit trees, a pecan tree, rose
bushes, honeysuckle, and all types of flowers growing wild along the fence or
planted in flower beds. In the middle of the yard was a concrete fish pond
filled with bobble-headed goldfish. It was a large, nine-room house that we
could run around and around without stopping. It had been built especially for
the developer and his family, and when my father took us to see it for the
first time, he was brimming with pride. My father was proud and strong, worked two jobs to keep us
well-dressed and fed. Sometimes, we huddled in the big arm chair long past
bedtime until he arrived from his second job,white flour sprinkled on the toes of his boots and wearing
the biggest smile in the entire world. Opening the door and seeing our faces, no matter how tired
he might have been, he always smiled and said, “How’re my kiddies.” Then he'd sit in the big armchair, sit the four of us on his lap while the little ones slept, and sing us a song.
Christmas was a big deal at our house. My mother played
Christmas music and watched us decorate the tree. She baked pound cakes, apple
pies, pecan pies, and the best sweet potato pie in the world. She was so happy
being a wife and mother of six children, and we were proud members of her tribe.
The two eldest took turns reading, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
before we were shushed and sent to bed. It wasn’t easy falling asleep, but we
believed Santa would be delighted to discover cookies and eggnog waiting as he
delivered the toys we had prayed and begged for.
The next morning, we were probably the happiest children in
the world, covering our mouths to hold back the squeals after seeing so many
toys piled around the tree, whispering while our parents slept and waiting
until their bedroom door creaked open. It was a beautiful sight, the house warmed, Christmas lights
glistening, the oak wood floors shining, and the smell of pine everywhere. On
the dining table was a gigantic bowl of fruit, which we could eat after
breakfast. At Christmas time, we were allowed to each as many oranges, apples,
gum drops and candy canes as we wished, but not before breakfast, so by the
time breakfast was served, we were ravenous. Our father was a professional
chef, but he couldn’t out-do my mother’s country cooking. Still, it was nice to
taste his cooking on this special day.
After breakfast, dishes were washed while mom and dad sat
around the tree and whispered. Then the music began and one by one, names were
called to claim what Santa had left. It was an all-day affair and clearly the
best day of the year. Afterwards, we built doll houses, adjusted skates, painted model cars, and hummed Christmas carols under the watchful eyes of my parents and big brother. I didn’t know much at the time, except this was the
happiest day of the year. So to all of you, cherish the good times and Happy Holidays!
