Below The Fold

Merry Chrismanukah!

Debbie called in a tizzy of nerves and holiday-fueled angst.

“I spent so much on Hannuka! I don’t have much left for Christmas! What do I do?!” Ah the pleasures that interfaith marriage has brought my beloved family. It would be easier if Amy’s folks lived here. Then we could just do Christmas with them. But since they don’t, it’s important to be as familial as possible, even if that means spending Christmas morning hung-over, cooking eggnog French toast for a family of kvetching Jews who’s frame of reference for Christmas is only what Target has explained over the years. Santa looks good in Red and Khaki.

“Get something inexpensive and thoughtful,” I told her. I explained what I had chosen for Mom, that only cost a few bucks, but was guaranteed to have her crying faster than when she hears the first few bars of “Sunrise, Sunset.”

“Don’t break yourself, kiddo. Just draw her a picture or something. She loves that stuff.”

Anyway, the gifts were nice, my wife presented me with the unbelievable Olympus C5000 camera , and my father gave me an airzooka and a copy of “From Here to Eternity” on DVD.

And then there was my sister’s gift. An innocuous little spiral journal. How nice.

“Open it,” she said, as I pretended to marvel at the reinforced cardboard binding.

Inside, she had written 25 things she had learned from her big brother.

I was suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, moved.

Some of my favorites:

“’The Lord of the Flies’ is not a cute, fun movie about children.”

“If your brother gives you a piece of candy, get the receipt.”

“Even if he says you’re just playing touch football… wear a helmet.”

“Never, under any circumstances, climb willingly into a trash can.”

“Every family should have a secret handshake.”

I was crying and laughing at the same time, so speechlessly moved by her perspective and the accompanying memories we share. We’re five years apart, lifetimes and eras are between us; interests, friends and work all share little in common. She’s much friendlier, more personable, and more focused than I am. I’m taller. She understands my mother. She hates my singing.

But for one morning, the first morning since that snowed-in family vacation at the Lost Valley Ranch a couple decades ago, we connected. In a way only a brother and sister can, transcending above all the fights and crap we did to each other as kids. I was reminded just how great it is to have a sister who gets me. Who really, really gets me.

If this is what Christmas is all about… well…maybe the goyim have something after all.