“We are proud to be Indian,” he would hear during his initial stay.
His father had passed at the abbreviated age of 26. Too soon. Too young. But he left his only child many extended relations and their many gracious comforts, the first of which was acceptance, despite many years spent apart.
Today, the little boy, now approaching the age of 40 and seated next to his beautiful and articulate wife, is blessed to catch the glances of his daughter and sons from his seat in the bleachers. And, yes, I am also blessed to view their joy each Christmas as they open their gifts, while I acknowledge my own.
Nittak Hullo Chito. Merry Christmas.
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