on the VCR and sit back to watch the ten-year-old video. On it was my kids’ attempt to record my father’s secret ingredients as he prepared our annual Christmas meat pies. “Hi, Mom.” I see myself looking out of the screen, gesturing for Lisa to aim the camera at her grandfather instead. “Hi, Grandpa,” she says next as the camera sweeps his direction. My dad nods in acknowledgement while he pries open the lid of a spice can. “Mom, what are you doing now?” The camera swings back to me. “The hard part, as usual.” I make a production of stirring the meat in a large pot. “Dad, don’t strain yourself shaking that spice can,” I tease over my shoulder. We’re making meat pies—my family’s holiday tradition. As an adolescent, I was not particularly close to my father. After driving a delivery truck and unloading heavy packages all day to support our large family, he barely had energy left to talk to me, except to ask me to get him another beer from the fridge or go buy him a carton of cigarettes.
What do You think about The Book Of Christmas Virtues?
