My wife and I love Christmas in New York. She's Jewish and never had a proper Christmas until gentile me came along. I grew up Catholic and left the church in my early 20s, but the holiday still holds me tight. I cherish those Christmas memories: the joy I could almost feel in the air, the trees aglow with lights, the choir at midnight Mass singing "hail to the newborn king." It lifted me out of myself and took me to another place.
So what was it that made Christmas 2012 our best Christmas ever? You'll see very shortly.
On that Christmas our older son Jason was in from California. Joining us was our younger son Daniel from Brooklyn and his toddler son Ari, a year and four months, our first grandchild. When our kids suggested a stroll in Central Park, right across the street from where we live, off we went.
We entered the park at West 100th Street and started down the sidewalk. Not far in, if you hang a left, there's another sidewalk with three benches. We'd just started walking, so I was surprised when our older son said we should turn left; okay, sure.
And there, on the upper slat of the middle bench, was a mounted silver plaque with black lettering. There were three lines, unpunctuated. This is what they said:
To Gerry and Gloria Scorse
Have a great morning walk
Love Jason and Dan
Our sons knew, of course, that we regularly walk in Central Park, five days on and one off. We're among the early birds, emphasis on the plural; you'd be surprised how many people are out by 6 in the morning, putting in the miles.
Now, all those mornings, we see once again the surprise that gave us our best Christmas ever. I reach down and touch their names with my index finger, giving each of them a hug.
(With slight revisions, this diary first appeared on December 17, 2013.)
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