Christmas in America
Mary Sicilia, Felida
When I was 8, my parents began running a boarding house in Duluth, Minn. It was my mom, dad, me and nine “guys” for Christmas Eve and every other eve for that matter.
Mostly they were Great Lakes shore men or steelworkers — all of them were immigrants or first-generation Americans — from Finland, Sweden, Italy, Croatia, Serbia, Poland and Wales.
One or two of them spent the holiday with their families, but most were alone. At least as alone as you can be in a household of 11 grown adults and one very chatty child.
Each year, everyone gathered for a fine dinner and then we exchanged simple gifts, most of them lovingly but clumsily wrapped by the men. We came from different cultures, spoke several different first languages, had widely varied political and religious viewpoints, but Christmas Eve, we were all the same — human beings longing for home.