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Coming Home for Christmas
Though I no longer live in my hometown of Amsterdam, New York, I spent my most memorable Christmas there. In 1975, I had just returned from two years in Costa Rica as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I never realized how special Christmas was until I had to spend those two years away from my family and friends.
When I went away in November of 1973, I didn’t think I would miss home that much. After all, I had lived away from Mom and Dad for four years while studying at Siena College. I found out soon enough, however, that Christmas was different.
I woke up on Christmas Day 1973 in San Jose, and I found myself thinking of Christmases past: opening presents under the tree, Mass at St. Mary’s Church, a family meal, and visits to Grandma Clary’s in the West End and Grandma LaBate’s in the East End. I wanted to see snow on the ground and hear Christmas carols. Instead, the temperature was in the 80s, and we went to see the bullfights in Zapote.
The following year, I was living in Golfito, a banana port on the Pacific side. When I wrote home before Christmas, I described my wish list. I must have been hungry at the time because I said I wanted a pizza from Russo’s, hot dogs with the works from…
