Cherish the Good Times and "Happy Holidays!"

          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!