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We have chili and oyster stew and the kids sneak desserts.
There is a plethora of storytelling going on.
Lots of laughter; Uncle Bill says things that are not for children.
He gets dressed down and acts compliant but isn’t.

We have gathered at grandma’s house. It is a potluck.
Six of the seven children are here; we speak of the seventh.
But he never comes; his wife’s family claims him every year.
We might see him in the summer, but only if she allows it.

There are seventeen cousins, and we have to open one gift at a time
While the grown-ups laugh and make fun of some of them.
There is always a gag gift, which we are encouraged to open first.
My gag gift was a 42 double D red bra when I was in 7th grade. Horrifying.

A family prayer before the meal; we gather around the table, hold hands.
When we do not all fit, we still hold hands, but from the next two rooms.
We know the handholding is imperative before the meal.
Always a burp and we accuse Uncle Bill who seems immensely pleased.

I had no idea how bleak Christmas would be without Uncle Bill.
But he passed of lung cancer in 1997, and it was a different Christmas.
Son Mike did his best to do the burping, but he was not as good at it.
We began setting a place for Uncle Bill and told stories about him after that.

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