I come from a large family; cousins for days. While there are only four of the “first” variety (officially, five legally–but that’s a longer story), the instant you get to “second” in the cousin spectrum? The mind boggles. Once-twice-three times “removed?” You’d need a team from the census bureau, and yet–they all lived within a few miles of “Gran,” (or “Auntie,” as she’s known to other branches) the matriarch of the clan, and my paternal grandmother. When she was alive, the family horde would descend on her house come Christmas Eve. A joyful gathering full of laughter, love, and amazing food.

Had I the time or word count, we’d spend a few more paragraphs on that last part. Suffice it to say, this is where my love of soul food originated.

However, there was one small problem with this rotation of 30-40+ revelers. Namely, the chosen gathering point: A single-story constructed in 1940 and a little over 1,000 square feet divided into three bedrooms, a living room, dining room, kitchen, and the world’s smallest bathroom. It got more than a little claustrophobic…and hot. 

So. 

Very. 

Hot.

Regardless of the temperature outside, the interior never dipped below “nuclear furnace” on Christmas Eve. Freezing rain, sleet, or blizzard outside? We’d have the front door and a few windows open to vent the heat, with the storm door fogged over, and a jolly “Merry X-Mas!” jauntily scrawled across the condensation. Occasionally, we’d even open that and just leave the screen door. Dressing in layers for winter? In our family that was more about peeling off to cooldown on “Pearson Eve.” Short sleeves were clutch.

Few in the family realized even with that, it could have been much worse. See, for more than 30 years, my mother made a point of showing up to the event two hours early to turn off the heat. “Nobody knows I do it,” she used to say, “but If I didn’t, somebody’d die of heat stroke.” The unsung hero that saved Christmas, time and again.

Back then, as my conditions manifested, Pearson Eve was both my favorite and most dreaded time of the year–mostly due to their effect on memory and anxiety. No matter how hard we tried as a unit, I just couldn’t remember any folks outside my immediate circle, so I was meeting my family for the first time…22 years in a row. Furthermore, as warm and welcoming as they were, it was a loud and claustrophobic environment for anyone, let alone someone manifesting conditions that made crowds feel distinctly unsafe.

As much as they were strangers every year, I knew I loved them all, however. They were, after all, family; and I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that they loved me, as they showed with open arms (and seriously, amazing food) every time we walked through the door. So I loved Pearson Eve with all my heart…and had a mild panic attack every time we approached the door.