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(December 23, 1973)
Christmas is a special holiday, but for our family the real holiday celebration took place two nights before at my grandfather’s home. That was when we celebrated Uncle Chibby’s birthday.
If a popularity vote were taken, Uncle Chibby would’ve been voted the most popular member of our family. No contest. He was everybody’s favorite uncle and favorite brother and since my grandfather’s death in 1961, he was central to the meaning of family in our small part of the universe.
He never married, and in a way, that seemed to make our relationship all the more special. You’ll have to excuse me. I may have the year wrong, but I don’t think so because I believe it was the next year, in August, when Richard Nixon resigned as president. Of such disparate things is our memory held hostage. I am also not certain how old Uncle Chibby (given name Pasquale) was when we celebrated his birthday in 1973. I don’t think he had yet reached 50.
For Uncle Chibby, 1973 had been a tough year. He had undergone some kind of stomach surgery. Our family was typically closed-mouthed about such things, so I didn’t know the specifics of his illness. But I knew it was serious. I knew we had almost lost him that year. I was not much of a churchgoer, but even I went to church and said silent prayers that he would survive. And somehow it seemed the prayers of our family were answered. He was released from the hospital. Maybe if I had been less thankful and more observant, I would have noticed that Uncle Chibby was still not well. But at the time, all I knew was that December 23rd would arrive, bringing another birthday celebration for my beloved uncle.
My uncle’s birthday is so intertwined in my mind that now over the years I can’t distinguish between that celebration and Christmas Eve. Our family exchanged Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve. Were Uncle’s birthday celebration and Christmas Eve celebrated together? Has one joyous occasion overlapped in my memory bank into another? I no longer know for certain. Perhaps that is why I chose to title this column “The Last Christmas” because that is how I remember it.
In truth, our Christmases had been diminished after the death of grandpop. It took a Herculean effort by Uncle Chibby to rally the spirit of our family to keep the traditional get-together intact. We might not get the same kick out of the Christmas holidays, but there was no way any of us would ignore Uncle Chibby’s birthday.
So it was we gathered that December night in that row home at Ninth and Wolf streets, the home we still called grandpop’s house even after he passed. Aunt Mary and Uncle George still lived there with Uncle Chibby. Our entire family gathered once again that night, especially thankful that Uncle Chibby was there to greet us.
The decorated tree was to the right as you passed through the vestibule. Next to it was a television — the TV had replaced the big radio sometime in the mid to late 50s, one of the few concessions to modern living that even grandpop enjoyed. The winter coats were taken upstairs and piled in one of the bedrooms. The greetings out of the way, the men took over the kitchen to play cards. The women adjourned along with the kids to the parlor to chat amiably.
I remember that even in the midst of my happiness that we were all gathered together for another year, peering closely at my uncle. It was a miracle that he was here, admittedly a bit thin. Dad had told me that in time after surgery the stomach took time to stretch and allow a normal appetite. Uncle Chibby was wearing an old tan sweater. He smiled and I searched his face for any sign that he was not well. He was fine. Everything was fine. Sometimes the eyes see what they want to see. The illusion of happiness is intoxicating and easily entertained. Hell, I think that night he even sang a few lines from “Ooh! Hey Look A There, Ain’t She Pretty” to reassure me.
I don’t remember what gifts his sisters gave him that night or even the gift we gave him. They seemed so insignificant. On Christmas Eve, Uncle Chibby would give an envelope with money to each of his sisters. That was his own tradition, just before all of us sat down at the kitchen table and ate cold cuts and cheese piled high on freshly baked rolls after the women in the family returned from midnight Mass.
We didn’t know at the time that this would be the last time Uncle Chibby would be with us for his birthday. Alas, the miracle was not real. Apparently when the operation was performed, the surgeon found that the cancer had spread. Uncle Chibby had been released from the hospital not because he had been saved, but to live out what few days he had remaining. He would pass the following May.
Uncle Chibby is gone now. As are my parents and uncles and aunts who were there that night in 1973. Like twinkling lights, they lit up our lives. And as the years pass, their memory ensures that those lights will shine brightly in our hearts forever. SPR
You can see Tom Cardella with Paul Jolovitz and an Eagles guest Monday nights at 6 on Monday Night Kickoff streaming on WBCB-TV
