I watch Mom make an attempt at breakfast: cereal and bananas with milk and orange juice, and say, "Mama, when I grow up I want to be a big black woman and sing like that." She laughs and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
After breakfast, I park myself under the tree, overloaded with lights and tinsel, and Mom hands me box after box. I open them all. A sweater, a new pair of pants, some hot wheels, a video game, a new pair of sneakers and...oh cool, a new crayon set.
Mom opens her gift from me -- a portrait of her. It was my first picture of a person, and I got my friend Tommyâs mother to get a frame for it.
I spend most of the morning drawing the hot wheels with my cool new Crayolas. I walk to her bedroom to show her my new masterpiece, but when I get there, sheâs lying on the bed, crying.... a bottle of vodka on her bedside table.
Fran pulls up blasting the car stereo, and the sisters Roach are singing Haydnâs ãHallelujahä chorus as only an ˆ capella folk quartet can. A fabulous fair-haired boy sits next to her. I convey my approval and get in.
"I thought Mike was coming?" I say.
"He bagged -- hung over," she says. She motions to Adonis. "This is Ralph. Ralph, Greg. Greg. Ralph."
"Baby New Year?" I ask. He nods, and shows his giant rattle and "teething" ring. Underneath his baggie pants, heâs wearing diapers.
I love it -- weâre giving Hugo a baby for Christmas!
