Dark stories, tales of whimsy and random brain droppings.

Christmas Eve

I’m not a religious man; spiritual, yes, but religious, no. However, it is a long standing tradition to accompany my mother to Midnight Mass every Christmas Eve, Anglican High Mass if available. I go and I drag my self-proclaimed atheist son along. We lament about the Holy Mutton and the strange celebration of the birth of the Holy Zombie. However, we go just the same. My sister joins us, partly out of guilt and partly because we enjoy the experience. I tell my son it’s for anthropological reasons if nothing else. My sister smacks me up the side of my head and corrects me. We show respect. We sing carols and light candles. It makes my mother happy and that is what matters.

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