By Karen Fitzgerald
Original Source: buffalonews.com
It was Christmas 1963, a gray Buffalo day. We had opened our presents in the morning, then went to mass with Mom. Dad was home, sleeping off his pre-Christmas merriment. When we returned, their fighting started.
We were all due for dinner in Jamestown, but first we had to stop in Hamburg, at Aunt Mary’s house, for some Christmas “refreshment.” I could feel Mom’s anxiety. As a sensitive 11-year-old, I had constant radar about Dad’s drinking and Mom’s moods.
The Christmas party was being hosted at the home of my dad’s brother. While the dinner was the traditional turkey, I couldn’t enjoy it because all the adults, except my mom, were getting…click here to continue reading