It is Christmas. And my kids are all home. If I live long enough, they won't be here, all together, because they will have lives to lead. Go forth, kids. Really. And truly.
But for now, they are here. And Patti Smith sings "Oh Holy Night" for El Papa. And massive non-believer that I am, for today, I will believe.
I'll believe that unrequited love will sustain that one. And I'll believe that she will dance. And I'll believe that he'll make his place at futbol.
Merry Christmas, the best kids that have ever happened to me. I wish I knew, then, what I know now. What do I know now? My weary soul rejoices.