Bake pies and they will come

  When I was young I grew up with my parents and family always around. During Christmas I can remember my father making fudge and giving it out for Christmas to our friends and family.  It was a Christmas tradition of sorts.  It was a way to share and taught me a lot about cooking.  I loved those times. Other Christmas Traditions were the cooking of the Christmas pies. Dad would start the day before making upwards of thirty pies: four Apples pies, 10 Pumpkins, 4 Cherries, and many more. I used to think that was what Christmas was all about and I was wrong. I learn over the years it was about sharing yourself with others. That is why my dad invited so many people to our house on Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. 
  I miss those times. I wouldn’t give the memory up for the world unless I was offered a chance to do it again. I mean go back on last time and celebrate Christmas with my mom and Dad. I would make sure my sister Linda was there and my uncles and aunts that have sense passed on. I miss them all. Christmas time reminds me of them and it makes me sad to think that my family is gone now. 
  Even family that I once thought that I would always be connected to, are just distant memories. They hold nothing for me or my small family. One of my Uncles once told me I wasn’t part of his family anymore. He looked at me strait in the eye and said this. It hurt more than anyone could have hurt me with a knife. Soon after that my father was dead. If only I had done anything to deserve the treatment I could apologies and set a seat at their table. 
  I guess the sins of a father and family will never be forgiving. 
  I guess I will make my own way.

  I guess I will have to make my own traditions and live with the quiet memories of yesteryear.  Being satisfied that life was meant to be this way and try not to cry so much around my little family around Christmas time. We all make our beds and one day it will be my turn to lie down and hold still.