Welcome to the Commune podcast. This is Jeff Krasna. Many of you may receive my weekly

Sunday commusing article where I address a breadth of issues from the spiritual to the sociopolitical,

and on occasion I will record an audio version of these articles and release it as a bonus episode.

And today's recitation scratches past the surface of the holiday season.

Of course, it's a joyful time for many of us where we enjoy our family, good food, and general revelry.

But it's also an emotional messy time for many who are grappling with loss or loneliness.

If you are interested in receiving my weekly article, sign up at Onecommun.com.

And if you're not totally sick of me, you can follow me on Instagram at Jeff Krasno.

So without further ado, here's this week's commusing, entitled

Christmess.

It was early Christmas morning, 1983, and nary a creature was stirring, not even me.

Of course, my brother and I had designs on waking with the roosters crow, rowdily rousing our

parents and attacking the trove of presents that bulged under the tree, spilling out over the candy cane apron around it.

But the cockadoodle-doo came in the form of a volley of jagged barbs, shooting like arrows up the stairs from the kitchen and into my bedroom.

I sprang out of bed and fetched my brother from his bunk.

We scurried to the top of the stairs and snuggled into each other three steps down.

He was seven, and his pajamas still had feet.

Our parents squabbled often, and Eric and I took a strange masochistic delight in listening to them bicker.

One parent would grab the red cape and goad the other

to charge, and like spectators at a bullfight, we muttered a quiet ole under our breath as they

dodged one another. We furtably tabulated the piercing stabs until this one morning when my father

said, Well, if you're planning to leave in June anyway,

...