THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, December 6, 1994 TAG: 9412060061
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: My Family
SOURCE: BY LOU ELLIOTT, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 68 lines
I HAVE a friend who approaches Christmas like a statistician. She and her husband keep track of whom they visit, dine with and open presents with each Christmas to keep the score even between respective families.
It's important. Those are revered traditions and cherished memories . . . the delicate ribbons that bind time and families.
For me and my husband, Grady, the equation is simple:
His family is Christian. They celebrate Christmas. We spend Christmas with his family in Florida. (I have not overlooked the sunny benefit here.)
Even though this is not what my mother-in-law Billie Jean refers to as ``my holiday,'' I look forward to the irregular visits that are timed according to Grady's military assignments.
On Christmas Eve, Grady's dad, Lawrence, and the four sons go out for beer and oysters. My niece, Maggie, and I - true oyster hogs - tag along. Other wives and kiddies come later. ``The boys'' go shopping at 7 p.m. ``Best bargains then,'' says oldest brother Larry.
Then it's on to the Sabatellas. Ruth and Joe's seven kids grew up with Billie Jean and Lawrence's four. They're home for the holidays. All are swapping stories. Ruth and I catch up over a quiet drink.
Christmas Day brings the one annual public fuss between Billie Jean and Lawrence. This short, spontaneous, always humorous disagreement is about when the turkey is done and ready to be sliced. Best viewing is from the kitchen doorway.
For dinner, Billie Jean makes a strawberry gelatin dessert that I relish. A schoolteacher who believes in equal shares for everyone, she reminds me to save some for another sister-in-law who also likes it.
The afternoon is a flurry of openings.
Two grandparents. Two parents. Four sons. Four daughters-in-law. Four nieces. Two nephews.
Among the gifts is my annual photo of Grady for Billie Jean. He is her youngest child. Maggie teasingly calls him ``Billie Jean's baby.''
In this year's photo, he is sitting in the cockpit of our sailboat on a sunny day enjoying a well-told joke.
I was not going to deliver the gift in person. He is overseas. I did not want to be a constant reminder to Billie Jean that her most beloved child is the only person absent from the four-generation reunion.
That started to change in July. Uh, huh . . . July when Billie Jean and Lawrence were visiting. ``Don't stay away just because he's gone,'' she said because I had mentioned ``going home'' for Christmas, but I might work instead.
``Home? Oh, I'm so glad you think of it as your home. And you should come home for Christmas,'' she said.
Then there was September. Pick a holiday, Billie Jean said. ``I would like it if you would come home for Christmas. But whichever holiday you choose, Thanksgiving or Christmas, I will pay for you to fly home,'' she said. ``I want you to come home.''
She may insist, but she's not paying.
The plane leaves Christmas Eve at 6 a.m. I'll be there by 10:30.
Time enough to take Grandma and Billie Jean shopping, bake a cheesecake and get Maggie, now 16, to confess all about her new beau over a few dozen oysters.
Billie Jean's happy at the news.
However, I am getting a present that does not require opening.
I'll be home for Christmas . . . with the family. by CNB