After the feast my Great Grand Aunt Genevieve made,

we’d sit ’round the dinning table

nibbling Krumcaka,

sipping Cassis or lemon aid

or what ever stronger stuff

(for my Dad)

my Great Grand Uncle Claus kept close to hand..

They’d laugh and sing carols

from their much fabled Mother lands…

Great Grand Ma Elizabeth Olsen,

from Flekkefjord, north of Oslo,

Grand Pa Michael Patrick Fagan

from Maynouth, County Meath, Ireland.

My parents from The Bronx and Brooklyn.

The rest from every where else.

We little ones squeezed in the Childrens Corner.

One, a blonde with olive skin,

my little cousin,

lovely Katrina,

her father a displaced Russian,

(who no one liked!)

his wife, Marina, a Dominican,

who everyone loved.

There was nothing any one felt compelled to do,

(though just because she wanted to,

my rebellious, Adventist Mother

had married a Jew!)

The world had just fought a horrible war

and was trying to forget the blood and The Bomb

and so much more.

And all anyone really wanted to do

was keep their children from harm.

Sure, I cherish these peaceful memories

of Christmas Eve, 70 years ago.

And when I pray to whoever’s listening

I pray She’ll,,

once again,

make them so.