"...I do remember some of the suppers, especially those on Christmas Eve.
That was my daddy’s birthday, December 24, when we always had, and continue to
have, our family Christmas gathering. Some of my earliest memories are of
the wider Walton family; grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, gathering
at the old home place. The air was filled with the smell of oyster
stew, country fried steak, turkey and cedar boughs; accompanied by loud conversation
and laughter. Presents were piled higher than me under a fresh cut cedar
tree that reached the ceiling. I remember being confused because
everybody called my daddy by the family nickname that I heard once a year,
“Bub.” It surprised me that he responded to it so naturally.
Looking back on it now, I think part of the genuine comfort I felt was in
seeing him be a brother rather than a daddy or husband. He loved
Christmas Eve. I did too.
When
my Papa Walton died and my sisters, brother and I grew older, we began to have
our Christmas Eve / Birthday celebration at our house with just our immediate
family. Some of it was the same. There was still oyster stew,
country fried steak, and turkey. The presents weren’t piled quite as high,
or else I had grown taller. However, there was nobody there to call him
“Bub.” I imagine he missed that.
After that last supper, Christmas Eve suppers were never the same. We even gave up on the oyster stew and country fried steak. It’s turkey, ham or other things now. There are still a lot of presents, loud conversation, and laughter. One thing we can always count on is that somewhere during the evening, someone always manages to ask, “How old would Daddy have been this year?” The profound sadness in the question is that now he would now be so old that he probably would have died by now anyway."
After that last supper, Christmas Eve suppers were never the same. We even gave up on the oyster stew and country fried steak. It’s turkey, ham or other things now. There are still a lot of presents, loud conversation, and laughter. One thing we can always count on is that somewhere during the evening, someone always manages to ask, “How old would Daddy have been this year?” The profound sadness in the question is that now he would now be so old that he probably would have died by now anyway."
However, whenever, and with whomever you celebrate Christmas or Christmas Eve, my hope for you it that your celebration is filled with joy.
Merry Christmas (Eve)!
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