Merry Christmas, Dad

Christmastime was always exciting around the Ruszel house. With a good combination of family tradition and anticipation of Santa Claus (at least for the littlest ones), the entire month of December was filled with projects building up to the Big Day. Early on in my upbringing, Dad was doubly-busy around the holidays. The delicatessens had him working late in the evening on Christmas eve and had him up early ready for work on the day after. On Christmas eve, he'd arrive home late, just as dinner was being set: cioppino, or fish, and pierogi. Immediately before dinner we'd share oblatek—a traditional Polish wafer—and Dad would say a special holiday prayer.

Even though he would have had a long day at work the day before, he was up on Christmas morning with Mom and us kids, watching over us as we got to open our stockings before morning mass, with just enough time to get started on the Lego model before having to get changed into our best clothes. After mass, Dad became the master of ceremonies. Opening gifts was organized chaos with him carefully doling out gifts one-by-one, making sure to keep the distribution even among all kids and Mom. One gift was opened at a time, so we could all enjoy each others' gifts. He had a knack for being able to shake a gift and tell its contents, very accurately, much to the dismay of the giver and recipient. Family legend tells of him shaking a box and correctly identifying that it was not only a sweater, but a green sweater. A large fire would be burning in the fireplace and gift wrap was collected and added to the flames. If there was a silly hat to be worn, he'd be wearing it.

It was nearly impossible to find an appropriate gift for Dad. He rarely expressed a need for anything. But we'd try. In 1977 he showed interest in the new jogging craze and for Christmas that year received James Fixx's Complete Book of Running, an Adidas track suit, and matching running shoes. That afternoon he donned the sweats and shoes and planted himself on the couch with the book in one hand and a beer in the other. He'd finished the book that day. When asked when he was going to start running he replied "I don't need to; I already read the book."

As us kids grew up and moved out, Christmas evolved to be celebrated on Christmas eve so we could all spend Christmas day with our own growing families. But Dad still handed out the presents, and organized chaos still ruled, even though it had transfered from his children to his grandchildren.

Beginning this year, Christmas without Dad will be something with which we'll all have to come to our own understanding. Sadly, Paula, the girls and I will not be traveling to be with the rest of the family for Christmas this year, mostly due to economics and budget. We'll most certainly miss being part of the celebration this year, but we'll find comfort in knowing that Dad will be with us wherever we are, celebrating with us, laughing with us, and, as always, being the master of ceremonies, contently watching over the chaos and joy.

Merry Christmas to you all.