My family is going to Disneyworld

for Christmas this week and it will be, as far as I know, the first time

I have not been home on Christmas or Christmas Eve my whole life. Though

part of me is sad with sentiment, I am sure I will quickly be distracted

will be there, too

Going home for the holidays

is a tradition for many people and it is always a time of mixed feelings.

Sometimes, if you are like me, you might be sitting there with your family

thinking, "If we weren't kin, I wouldn't be caught dead hanging out

with these people." Luckily, those are rare occasions for me. My

family is an amalgam of the most interesting people I have ever met. After

all, I do have a twin brother and I would have to say he was smart, good-looking

and funny for no other reason than we are alike.

Jimmy Stewart's character in

"It's A Wonderful Life," would never have considered suicide

after celebrating a few Christmases as a Murphy. Jeesh, my older brother's

deep-fried turkey is incentive alone to climb off that bridge railing,

not to mention my mom's potato salad and sweet tea.

That is truly the greatest

part of being home for the holidays, that we can all see ourselves as

having a place somewhere in this world. As we are swallowed up in our

work and by the hype of everything else, we can know our place. For some

of us, it's taking the normal spot at the table where we sat 30 years

ago or being made to sit at the kids' table still, even though you might

be 40 years old.

Actually, that is a fun game

I like to play, imagining some of the most famous people in the world,

going home for Christmas. Can you imagine Al Gore home for the holidays

right now? His family worrying that if they cut in front of him in the

food line, they might have to face his lawyers. How about Madonna and

her two children and the two dads? I guess that is why God made two drumsticks

on the turkey. And one has to wonder if all Christmas dinners at Mike

Tyson's household end with someone being charged for assault and battery.

In the middle of my family

Christmas time is always my mother. She is irony in a house dress. She

has never driven a car but is more about female independence and strength

than all the feminist wannabees to ever run their Evian-drinking mouths.

In her mid-seventies, just last week she bowled a three-game set with

scores of 185, 179 and 173. I bowled at a party for my daughter's friend's

birthday recently and the best I could do was 135. And that was with

the gutter guards in place.

That is the hardest part of

not getting home for Christmas, just getting to feel at home and safe

and secure. Nothing exciting, nothing earth-shaking. No ice sculptures,

no extravagant gifts, just banana pudding and family. But, I have kids

now and it's time to start new traditions all over again. Merry Christmas.