A great Christmas Eve

We returned from Midnight Mass to our cold apartment. Our Father plugged in the tree. We gathered in front in silly anticipation. The warmth of joy is a feeling had. Our Father brought a plate of chocolate cookies, a pitcher of milk, and the 70’s brown drink cups. The oldest, our Father gets to go first. I do not recall the gift from us. His beer kept him captivated as we opened our gifts. All I wanted was a Rainbow Mork Suspenders. Our Father piled the board games, and my big brother and I got remote control cars. My sister got another porcelain doll to taunt and haunt me. Their eyes open to witness our Father’s narcissism, alcohol, Paul menthols, Catholism, HoeJos, and violent temper. He relived Vietnam on our bodies. Twenty-one-twelve was the apartment. Monroe Park seemed better. The grass was still brown. The Hudson is thick of secrets.