Apple Trees Make Apples

You may be familiar with the the saying "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," which means children are very similar to their parents. My friend Mark likes to twist that adage and say, "Apple trees make apples." He usually says it to me when I am complaining about one of my kids' less-than-flattering displays of stubbornness (Will), impatience (Tess) or inability to hear someone when they don't care what they are saying (Emma).  Imagine that?

I find myself thinking about "apple trees" more and more as I see Will growing up.

Will is a rule follower just like his dad.  Tell us the rules.  Paint us the box. And we will live with them, no matter how stupid or unfair they might be.  We usually try and negotiate a fair set of rules in advance -- or in Will's case he might evolve the rules to his advantage in the games he makes up. But, if there are rules we can usually live with them.

Chess Rules

Recently, Will has been learning to play chess with me.  Lots of rules to learn there.

He has been very quick to pick up the game.  He clearly thinks a few moves ahead, sees the whole board and is beginning to grasp the implications of each move he makes (today, he was even coaching sister Tess).

The first few times he played he was still getting familiar with how each piece could move differently.  However, one rule he learned right away was that once you let go of your piece, you couldn't move it again -- even if you then realized it was going to be taken.

So one game, he moved his knight three spaces and over one, instead of two spaces and over and he took my queen.  He then quickly let go of the knight.

I told him, "Will, you can't do that.  The knight only moves two spaces and then over one. It should be here."  He knew he was caught, but he also knew the rules and quickly retorted -- "But, Dad, your rule is once you let go of the piece... you can't move it again! So, he can't go back to the other space."  Gotcha, Dad! A rule is a rule.

We discussed the merits of which rule really counted in this case, and Will decided he would no longer play that day if I wasn't going to play by the rules.  

A Rule Is A Rule

At this point in my blog post, my mother is chuckling to herself and thinking you got what you deserve. She is also beginning to recall stories of her own son, who liked rules and had his own strong sense of fairness.

When I was in 8th grade, my teacher was getting very frustrated with our class at the end of one very long day. Spring fever had set in, graduation was on the near horizon, and students weren't as studious or prepared as our teacher would've liked.

She announced that she was going to ask one more set of questions from the chapter, and she expected someone to answer them -- besides Billy Price who had been answering all the previous questions -- or we would all be staying after school.  Well, when no one else could answer her questions (except me whom she wouldn't call on), the last bell rang, and she kept everyone after school -- including me.

Well, that wasn't fair.  She was changing the rules -- and I told her I shouldn't have to stay after school.  The teacher didn't appreciate the merits of my argument this day and sent me to the principal's office. Now, I didn't go to the principal's office very often in my eight years at Our Lady of Mercy, but on this day I knew I was right and I was ready to make my case. Certainly, the principal Sr. Rose Mary would be on my side.  She knew the rules.  She knew what was fair. I knew the answer to every question our teacher had asked, but she wouldn't let me answer them.  Why did I have to stay after school?

My train of logic derailed with Sr. Rose Mary, too, and so I went back to class to serve time with my classmates.  Another loss for the rule follower.

Will the Negotiator

Will has become quite the negotiator of what is fair and isn't fair in his own right.  For the last year, going to Sunday mass has become an unbearable torture for Will, usually ending in tears, crying and slamming doors.  No manner of persuasion or argument can convince him this is a good use of this time.

Most Sundays in the battle of wills (or Wills, in this case), I would win the battle, but lose the war.  He would go to mass crying, tear-stained and seething, and I would also go to mass ticked off -- and not in the most Christian mindset, other than praying to God for more patience.

When his grandmother came to stay with us for a few weeks, she would go to the early mass, and for a couple of Sundays, I took the path of least resistance after arguing with him, and just left him home with Grandma when the rest of us went to mass.  This was not a long-term solution, but it certainly made for more peaceful Sundays.

There is nothing -- other than his mother -- that Will loves more than his electronics -- Nintendo DS, iPad, XBox, etc.  So, one Sunday, I told him, "Look here is the deal, if you don't go to mass like a good boy and without any screaming, then you will not be able to have any electronics for the entire day.  It's one hour at Church or a whole day without any electronics.  That's the rule."  He agreed begrudgingly.

The next weekend I told him the same rule that we had established.  He turned to me and said, "Well, Dad, you don't leave for Church until about 9:30, so I can keep playing my games until then, since I COULD go with you until you leave.  But, I am going to stay home with Grandma, and once you come back from Church I will give up my electronics the rest of the day. I am not going to church."  Gotcha, Dad! A rule is a rule.

And so, the truth is apple trees make apples -- even rotten ones some days.  :)

13 Truths About Fatherhood

It is Father's Day weekend.  A time to visit Macy's for that Oxford shirt and paisley tie combination your father has always wanted.  Or, time to hit Home Depot for the latest set of power tools that your father can drive through his thumb, foot and other appendages.  Or, time to find the last existing bottle of Obsession cologne to replace the one that your father has been wearing since high school. Oh, Father's Day.

Father's Day is also a great time to reflect on those common traits that make us fathers. In today's post, I would like to share 13 truths of fatherhood:

1) Fathers will never be mothers. They will never be the their kids' favorite or the first one they thank in their Tony Award acceptance speech. On the other hand, they will also never be the one who the kids yell at when they can't find their favorite pair of jeans, when they are "starving," or when the wifi is out.

2) It will always be a father's job to clean up the dog shit.  Or, kill the stink bugs... knock the bee's nest out of the garage ... or take the dead mice out of the mouse traps.

3) Dad's music will always suck.  From generation to generation, fathers will always have the crappiest music collection ... whether it is listening to Tony Bennett, Barry Manilow or Bon Jovi ... a Dad's music is never as cool as his kids'.

4) Fathers will never ask for directions or instructions .  They will follow their GPS mindlessly in circles or continue to say, "Oh, don't worry. I know where I am now."  And the IKEA furniture or thousand piece Lego set will always have "extra" pieces to toss away.

5) Every father is the "worst dad ever." At some point, every dad will be a "tyrant" and "hated" by his kids for being "soooo unfair."

6) Every father runs a hotel for kids. "Guests" enjoy concierge service, continental breakfasts, free wifi.  They don't need to turn out lights, pick up clothes, hang up towels, put away their toys, make their beds...  Check-out time is arbitrary -- usually noon on the weekends for teenagers. And new guests are always welcome to fill vacancies for sleepovers.

7) Fathers will always take the kids for ice cream.  They will generously buy little Jimmy his one scoop of vanilla ice cream on a cone, while they devour a 1200 calorie banana split with extra walnuts and chocolate syrup.  "It's for the kids, honey."

Megan Hock Photography -- Pinterest

8) Fathers will always hate their daughters' boyfriends and cry on their daughters' wedding days.  Always.

9) Every dad is a cab driver. A text or a phone call and a father is out the door faster than an Uber driver in Manhattan. Those Saturday morning drives to practices or late drives home from theater rehearsal. That one-on-one time is precious and priceless.

10) Fathers will always snore.  It's a chronic condition, especially after Thanksgiving dinner, or in an easy chair while they are "watching" the latest CSI episode.

11) Fathers will never be as tough as mothers. Mothers carried those kids in their wombs for nine months, doing unthinkable things to their bodies, and went through hell to bring them into the world.  Fathers whine when they get a twisted ankle playing basketball or smash their thumb with a hammer.

12) Fathers will never get sunscreen right.  Whether it is for themselves or their kids, someone will invariably wind up with one thigh that is lobster red, or have the map of the Ukraine imprinted on their back.

13) Every father's cold heart has a melting point.  A tight hug, a cute smile and a sincere, "I love you, Dad" can melt any Dad's heart.

Melt your Dad's heart this weekend.  Say thanks and I love you.

50 years married? That's love. Real love.

We celebrated my parents' 50th wedding anniversary this weekend with family and friends.  Fifty years?  Wow.

Think about it.  Fifty years ago, there were about 3 billion people in the world.  Today, there are more than 7 billion (and my parents only contributed me, my sister and five grandchildren ... slackers).  Fifty years ago, the average cost of a house was $13,000, the average cost of a new car was $2,500 and a gallon of gas was 31 cents.  Today, people build treehouses for $13,000.

Truth is ... you don't last 50 years without being in love ... real love.  Not the Nora Ephron romantic comedy love. Or the Hallmark, tearjerker commercial love. It's the "I've seen you at your best, your worst, your highest, your lowest" kind of love -- and it's beautiful.

Bill and Gerry -- 50 years

Bill and Gerry went to Snyder High School together in Jersey City back in the 1950s.  Dad spent time in the Air Force, traveling to exotic places like Mt. Hebo, Oregon, before having a career at AT&T Bell Labs.  And, Mom served as an executive secretary at a shipping company in Harborside in downtown Jersey City. And after being a stay-at home mom, later in life she was an office manager for a chiropractor and a secretary at St. Peter's College (read about her tales of wisdom in this earlier blog).  

They shared their vows at St. Paul’s Church on May 8, 1965, just a few miles from where we had their party on Saturday.  They have lived in the same Greenville neighborhood their whole lives. First on Danforth Avenue, then two blocks over to Terhune Ave. Then another block over to McAdoo Avenue.  They are not world travelers ... not millionaires ... not quoted in The Sunday New York Times.  But, after 50 years, they know a thing or two about love ... real love.

It's the Love, Real Love...

Their love has grown over 50 years and shown itself in all the little ways.  It's the love that allows you to keep quiet -- and still smile -- when your wife tells you the same story for the hundredth time in 50 years about the time the Pepsi truck lost its parking brake and demolished your car on Fowler Avenue.  It's the love that allows you to keep reading your book when your husband snores so loud in his chair that it could wake the dead -- but he insists he's not tired or ready to go to bed.

It’s the love that perseveres through struggles -- losing your parents and loved ones -- and holds you up through tough days of sickness and surgery.  It's the love that sees you through depressing times and life's unexpected changes.  Love that makes your partner provide the encouragement and nudge that you may need to get back on track.

It's the love that laughs and celebrates with you -- all the births, christenings, birthday parties, graduations, weddings, etc. Your permanent date.  Your other half.  The one who has built a lifetime of precious memories with you.

It’s the love that builds communities.  Nights working the food tent at the Our Lady of Mercy Carnival, cooking sausage and peppers and coming home smelling like grease, so the school could have a little more money.  Calling bingo games in the smoke-filled Maria room, so the kids' school could have a little more money.  Shoveling the snow, picking up a newspaper, sharing flowers or stopping for a chat together with your elderly neighbors on McAdoo Avenue.

It's the love that builds friendships over dinners at Just Sonny’s or Laico's.  Playing Trivial Pursuit with friends in the kitchen to all hours.  And barbecues – oh so many barbecues in that small yard on McAdoo Ave.

It’s the love that builds families.  From the old days in Brick and Toms River, or Norristown and Clifton, building memories for your kids with their aunts, uncles, and grandparents.  It's making the 10-hour drive the last few years to vacation in the Outer Banks of North Carolina so you could build even more memories, now for your grandkids with their aunts, uncles and cousins -- and, of course, Nana and Pop.

We tease them a lot because it's fun, but our family's respect, love and admiration runs deeper than they will ever know.  Love... real love ... isn't found in a Hollywood film or a Huffington post sob story.  On many days, it's found in a two-family home in Jersey City in the hearts and lives of Bill and Gerry.

The Perfect Place to Show off Inept Parenting? The Doctor's Office

If you ever want to feel inept as a parent just take your kids to the doctor's office.  The doctor's interrogation -- I mean questions -- are quick to reveal what a negligent, inadequate and careless parent you are.  Or at least it will make you feel that way.

Can You Repeat the Question?

When I was about nine years old, I was sitting on the living room floor with my dog Buddy watching television.  Buddy was a black Lab and terrier mix.  He must have had a sore ear that night as we watched television because when I rubbed his head, he yelped, turned quickly -- and bit my face.

It wasn't a Cujo, horror film kind of bite.  He snapped at me and because we were sitting so close, one of his sharp teeth went right through the skin under my bottom lip.  Clean through. A nice bloody mess.  You could've stuck a straw through the skin to my teeth.

My father got the unenviable task of taking me to the Greenville Hospital emergency room alone.  Standing at the counter, talking to the nurse who was filling out the paperwork, poor Dad almost got stumped on the third question.  "Patient's name?" she asked.  Got it.  "Address?" OK.  "Birth date?" ... "Uhm," said my Dad as he turned and looked down toward me.  "What's your birthday?"

We got through that and when they told us it could be a long wait (someone came in right before us with 21 stab wounds -- that's a whole lot of stitches), Dad decided my cut didn't look that bad.  We could always come back in the morning.

It's funny the things you remember.  The truth is medical interrogations bring out the worst in any parent.  You feel like you are on trial, facing a cross examination from a mix of the SuperNanny, Judge Judy and Alicia Florrick from The Good Wife.

The Inquisition

Flash forward to my own recent parenting gem in the doctor's office.

I know my kids' birthdays -- or at least I have them readily available in my smart phone so I can avoid such scarring moments for my own kids (just kidding, Dad).

I took Emma and Will to the doctor recently during the height of this winter's germ scourge. Their school friends were dropping like flies, and they soon succumbed to the bug.

As we sat in the exam room, I first had to face the nurse and explain why we were there.

"Will has been home with a sore throat and a bit of fever this week, and Emma woke up today with a 102 fever, glazed eyes and sore throat," I explained.

"Are you really this child's father? 

"Well, her temperature is perfect now.  98.6," said the nurse, brandishing a temporal scanning thermometer that looked like something Dr. Bones used on Star Trek. How could that be? How did she not have a fever?  Betrayed!

Truth was I hadn't even checked her temperature since that morning.  Once her mother decided she could stay home from school, the battle was lost. Why would I take her temperature again.  My orders were simple: "Keep them alive.  Get them to the doctor.  Pick up their medicine."

The doctor came in a bit later and had questions of her own.  No problem. I had this figured out now. I wouldn't look like "inept, know nothing" dad.  I would look like nurturing, "father knows best" dad. I wanted my kids to be strong and independent -- they could answer the questions themselves.

"Go ahead, Will.  Tell the doctor how you're feeling," I said.  Will did a nice job in his sad, soft-spoken voice, describing his sore throat when he swallowed.

I played the supportive dad, helping him out a bit, sharing what I knew about his allergies and asthma.  Whew.  Not bad.

Then came more questions.  This doctor was RELENTLESS!  Is this the Inquisition?

"What did you have for breakfast, Will?"  Oh, crap.

"I had Cheerios and chocolate milk," he said.  Not exactly high-protein eggs, nutritious oatmeal and orange juice, but hey it was better than the cinnamon buns his mother usually gave him.

We got our orders, and the doctor was actually very nice. She spoke to me very slowly when she gave me instructions, wrote it down for me, and didn't give me any stern, disapproving stares.

Full Circle

Bringing things full circle, my dad recently accompanied me on a trip to the Urgent Care with Will. My dad didn't want to go, but my mother made him. Maybe he was scarred by the trip to Greenville Hospital for the dog bite, too, and he didn't want to be questioned about his grandson. He probably doesn't know his birthday either -- and he doesn't have a smart phone.

Will was under the weather.  Poor little guy had strep.  As we sat in the waiting room, my dad fell asleep in the chair before we even saw the doctor. With age comes some privileges. He never had to answer a single question.

The Walking Dead and Parenthood -- It's All About Family

I am a long time fan of the television show Parenthood, the sappy, award-winning drama about the everyday trials, tribulations and tragedies of the Braverman family. Every week, I record the latest episode on my DVR and then sit on my couch and sniffle over all the heartwarming and gut-wrenching moments.

Kristina's recovery from cancer. Hank's and Max's struggles with Asperger's. Joel and Julia's marital problems.  Amber's struggle with growing up and finding her way. Adam's stressed out existence as the one everyone depends on. Zeek's heart trouble and mortality. It all gets to me. I am a sensitive guy.  And my wife kindly reminds me, "It's just a television show. What is wrong with you?"

Parenthood is one show that my wife and I would make time to watch together. I would watch so I could  get all sentimental and think about how I hoped someday I would sit on a porch like Zeek with my daughter and have her tell me I was a "the best" father (sob... sob...). My wife Elena would watch the show so she could sit and laugh at me for acting like an idiot on the "crying couch" with my daughter Emma (also a sniffler).

Now, switch gears. I have recently become addicted to a different kind of show: The Walking Dead. This hit show with a cult-like following portrays people's struggle to survive in the weeks and months after a zombie apocalypse engulfs the world.


Skulls smashed with axes. Gun shots to the head. Herds of mindless zombies walking and devouring live victims in their path. The base reality of survival -- kill or be killed -- in all its raw glory. I sit there on my iPad watching episode after episode, cliffhanger after cliffhanger, addicted to this show.

As I watched the final episode of Parenthood tonight, I got to thinking, "How could the same person -- me -- love these two vastly different shows?" And the truth is it's all about family. The strength we find in family. They ways we define family. The bonds and commitments we have to each other.

It may seem odd, but here are a few of the family lessons, these shows share:

Family always has your back -- In Parenthood, no matter how many fights they might have or how much they might snipe about who was their parents' "favorite," in the end they always made up and stood up for each other. Adam and Crosby disagreed about the future of the business they started together, and things got very ugly. But in the end they were brothers and that trumped being business partners (eventually). In The Walking Dead, they were always willing to put their lives on the line for their group. When T-Dog got bit by a zombie, he didn't hesitate in sacrificing himself to the zombies to help Carol escape. Family means making sacrifices, making apologies and always having each other's back.

Cherish those "moments" -- Don't lose sight of the simple family moments -- the points scored in a basketball game, the excitement over a report card, crazy singing in the car... Or, the beauty of nature you can share -- the sunrise in your yard, the walk on the beach, the snowmen that you build. When Adam successfully bakes a souffle with a student with special needs, and neither of them had ever done it before, that was awesome -- a small victory against the world. When amidst all the death and hopelessness created by the "walkers," little Carl talks about the peaceful looking deer he got close to in the pasture, that is rejuvenating. The fact he could still see beauty in all that despair was cool. Don't let those "moments" pass unnoticed.  Enjoy them and remember them, always.

You don't choose your family -- or maybe you do -- At the end of the day, he's "my blood" is what redneck, arrow-slinging hero Daryl says about his choice to stay with his evil, racist, masochistic brother Merle. At the same time, their group is a band of strangers who bond like a family to survive and would do anything for each other (even chop off a friend's leg with an axe to save him from "turning"). In Parenthood, when Amber sleeps with her cousin Hattie's boyfriend, or when little Sydney screams at her newly adopted brother Victor, you know it will all work out. You're family -- for better, or worse.

I know this all may sound crazy and farfetched, but there has to be some reason I find these two insanely different shows so fascinating and enjoyable. If it's not the common theme of family, then I may have to admit that I am a weepy, emotional sap who cries at Hallmark commercials, while secretly wanting to enjoy the adrenalin rush of decapitating a crazed zombie with an old, rusty bread knife.

The Secrets of Super Heroes -- and Families -- Through the Eyes of a Seven-Year-Old

My little guy Will is a shy 7-year-old boy. He doesn't have whole lot to say to most people. Probably like a lot of little boys.  Words are just an unnecessary disruption between butt smacks, ear flicks and tickle fights.

Will speaks in brief sentences and one-word responses (Hi ... Bye ... Thank you...  Chicken fingers, please... More ketchup... I'm bored... Next question... Can we go home now?).

Light Him Up!

He fidgets and mumbles a bit when strangers try to speak with him (this means anyone who is not his mom, dad or sisters).  But once in a while, someone can hit on a topic that will get him excited. You see this little boy literally light up and give you a glimpse of all the wheels that are churning in that mind of his.

This week, we were in Ohio visiting with family and having to talk to lots of people.  Will was his usually quiet self, floating in and out of rooms of adults and older cousins to build Legos, watch an iPad or play video games by himself.

I had been teasing him all week that Batman wasn't really a superhero, just a rich guy with a bunch of gadgets and no superpowers (see this YouTube video).  Well, we visited with his Aunt Rita and she knows a whole lot about superheroes and comics (could be that she lives in Seattle, or that she owns a movie theater in Ohio. Not too sure how she gathered such knowledge). They compared notes on superheroes I had never even heard of, and he was quite excited to talk to her about all the members of the Justice League, their back stories and what made them superheroes.

Every Superhero Team Needs Key Players

Tonight, I decided to see what else he thought about superheroes and I got quite an education from my little genius.  He is actually quite a philosopher and I think he already has the makings of a doctoral thesis in the works.

According to Will, every good superhero team needs a few key players, and he can describe them and draw examples if you ask. As I listened to him, I was impressed with the characters he named and the traits he identified. The truth is I started to think about how his traits were needed in any good team or family.

• Every superhero teams needs a "strong guy, Dad." The Hulk. Thing. Maybe a Three-headed Dragon (see drawing).  Every family needs that "strong" person, too.  A family protector.  The emotional anchor. The person who can make the sacrifice, take the hits and just keeps on coming at you.
   
  
• He also said every team needs someone who can make things (see drawing). Weapons. Swords.  Someone who can use a frying pan (it's not a shovel or a mushroom, Dad), a drill, or a chainsaw to make important stuff for the team. They might even "have telekinesis, Dad." This might be the family member who cooks the meals, fixes the backed-up toilet, or can assemble an 800-piece Lego set.
  
  
  
   
• Every team also needs someone "who can control people's minds," according to Will (see drawing).  What? They "can make little people like themselves and control them with their hat." I think, in more politically correct terms, this might be someone who can "influence" people to do what they want.  The talker. The peacemaker. The diplomat. Or if you're more sinister, quite possibly, Rush Limbaugh or Taylor Swift.
  
  
  
• And, every superhero team needs a leader.  Captain America. Someone who rallies the troops, sets the plan and leads them into battle.  Someone who has the final word -- and can use arrows and a fire sword to provide clear direction.
  
  
  

• And, this one may surprise you -- but it may be the most insightful point of all.  Every team needs a "weird guy," too.  Someone who is a little different, or maybe funny like stretchy Mr. Fantastic or "the Green Goblin. He is crazy and funny, Dad." Every team and family needs that person who brings something unique to the mix. That laid-back person who sees the humor in life, keeps everyone smiling and loose, and keeps life and battles in perspective. In most White Houses, I think we call that person Vice President.

It was a great conversation that I may visit again with Will.  He has more points of views on animal-based superheroes and super pets, he tells me.

I learned a good deal about superheroes, power and teamwork from my conversation with Will. And, I learned a whole lot about a little boy who may just be my superhero.

The Christmas Letter Is a Gift -- To Me :)

Some people bake Christmas cookies and make rock hard fruit cakes.  Others have Secret Santa gift exchanges or ugly holiday sweater parties. Still others collect special ornaments or visit the tree at Rockefeller Center.

Traditions are part of the holidays, and writing our annual family Christmas letter is mine. For the past 10 years as the last turkey leftover is eaten on Thanksgiving weekend, I take out my note pad and start drafting the letter to go with our Christmas mailing.

Back in 2004, I wrote that it was going to be a "new tradition we hope to continue as a nice way to recap the year's highlights for our close friends and family, and to establish a nice record of family history." A modest goal indeed.

Recording Family History

You see I am a typical forgetful father.  I can tell you the starting line-up for the 1986 Mets, sing the lyrics of Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl, and remember the name of the bully who hit me with a broom in third grade.  But, but don't ask me where Emma went to pre-school (Joyful Noise), when Tess started walking (2005) or how much Will weighed when he was born (9.9 pounds and 23 inches). I need cheat sheets.

I don't have the maternal memory that my mother has: "Well, 1975, that was the year you lost your first tooth, your sister had a crush on that Polish boy who lived on Fulton Avenue and your Aunt Gladys passed away. Oh, and I weighed 98 pounds.  Can you believe that?"   Mothers remember that stuff.  Not dads. So, I write my letters.

Sharing Milestones and Memories

My wife makes fun of me every year for writing the letter, but I know she would miss it if I let it slip.  And friends tell me how much they look forward to it.   I used to send it to just a few friends, but then the word got out and people who didn't get "the letter" felt slighted.  "Why didn't I get your letter this year, Bill?"

The truth is I enjoy reading through the collection of all the letters each year and remembering the milestones and moments of our lives: the joyous baby births, school updates and fond memories of those who passed; the unforgettable weddings, vacations and visitors to NJ; the new plays, kiddie quotes and crazy dog adventures. It's all right there, captured in my memory lane binder (yes, a binder -- just like work).

The Making of a Good Christmas Letter

I know Christmas letters aren't for everybody. Some people hate them.  Some people mock them.

I would like to think I have learned something over 10 years, so here are five tips for writing a good Christmas Letter:

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1. Know your audience - Are you writing this for the neighbor you nod hello to? No, you're writing it for the family members who want to see if you mention them. For the friends you haven't seen in years, but whom you would love to visit "if they were in town"; for your kids to read about themselves when they get older and you want to embarrass them; for the older version of you someday reading Christmas letters that make you chuckle and cry.

2. Keep it brief -- No more than one page.  Even if it was an amazing year in which you met the Pope, flew a rocket to the moon and built an entire village from tiny saplings in Appalachia, people don't want to read more than a page.

3. Don't brag -- Your kids are the cutest, brightest, etc. We get it. Tell the stories or moments that help us know them a bit better. Will wants to be a snakecharmer. Emma was an Oompa Loompa.  Tess is planning to open a salon/dogwalking service when she grows up

4. Humor never hurts -- Give readers the family update, but be colorful or specific on the people, places and biggest events of the year.  Paint the picture. Tell them about the dog chewing up the windowsills, the kid who broke your big screen TV, getting trapped on an elevator with the family in London, kids vomiting on vacation. People like to know you might have had a tougher year than they did.  ;)

5. Be thankful -- It is Christmas. Be a little sappy and count your blessings.

Truth be told, my Christmas letter is a very special gift. A gift for me that I happen to share with others.

Happy holidays and God bless...