Growing Up in a Family

Growing up in a family where one side is Irish (McGirk), and the other side Italian (Maldonado), emotions tended to run high. This was especially true when my Uncle Pete would come for Christmas dinner. Things would start out festively enough; he would arrive with presents in hand for everyone, and his bottle of Tillamore Dew. He was a tall man in his fifties then, a shock of red hair atop his head salted with some gray, giving it rather pinkish hue in the sunlight. It seemed he would always burst into the room, "Alllllllllright now, the party can begin, Uncle Pete is here," was his traditional greeting. (In real fact he was born with the name Eugene, but when he developed colic as a child the doctor treating him stated, "This boy doesn't screams like a Eugene, he scream like a Pete," and that was that). His brother Joseph, my father, would usually smile and shake his head a bit, my mother, on the other hand, would close here eyes and mutter something like, "Jesus, Mary, mother of God."

To me it was the real beginning of Christmas.

However one year Christmas threatened not to come. That year was 1963, I was12 years old, and it had snowed and snowed right before Christmas. In fact School had closed days before the winter break and we just had extra time in the snow. That was also the year that President Kennedy had been assassinated and I remember that the whole season had taken on a different tone. We only had a Christmas tree that year, no outside lights and many of our neighbors did the same. Then the real battle erupted, my father wanted to have the traditional Christmas dinner and my mother thought it was no time for celebrating. They seemed to argue for days, but finally my mother acquiesced and Christmas dinner was on.

"Alllllllllright now, the party can begin, Uncle Pete is here," my father attempted to catch his brother at the door and stop his entrance salutation. He was not quick enough. "Pete, hold it down this year a bit will ya, Millie is in the dumps with the Kennedy thing and it was all I could do to keep the Dinner on."

"Okay Joe, but if anybody got a right to be sad its you and me, after all they killed him because he was Irish ya know?"

At that my mother came bursting out of the kitchen, "What the hell are you talking about, killed him because he was Irish, they assassinated him because he was Catholic! Irish, Jesus you have got to be kidding."

"Hey now," said Pete, "You know he was on the side of the IRA and his father was one of them that probably supplied them with money and guns. You know most Americans didn't want to see that happen."