Christmas memories run deep

This is a guest post from Moshe Oberstein, Robin's brother. This originally was a Christmas morning email from brother to sister.

In 1981 I responded to a distress call in San Francisco Bay. It was on X-mas day and there was a five year old using the radio. He and his dad had spent the night sleeping on the deck of their sailboat. During the night the father had rolled off the boat and was missing. The kid was smart enough to be able to use the radio and we found him in a few hours based on what he said was around him. We never found his dad......thought about you this morning. Sometimes your life is touched by others in ways you can not fathom at the time. It took a fifty year old to understand what Xmas will always mean to that boy.

I remember getting packages from my dad when he was in Vietnam. He always sent me uniforms and hats. I still love both.

I remember bowls in the house with nuts in them.........don't know why.

I remember stealing X-mas lights off neighbors houses and throwing them in the street.

I remember my moms 'black pudding' I have no idea what it was made from and I never really liked it, but the sauce you put on top was good, with cherries. My mom also made peanut butter fudge. I'll remember that on my death bed.


I remember parties where the parents got drunk, or tired, and fell asleep. My uncle Rog would play the piano and my aunt Joan would sing in a husky baritone.

I remember a new sled. I was probably four.

I remember a clown punching bag about the same time.

Uncle Rog would set a train set around the tree. I used to spend ours with it, daydreaming about things.



A little later on Christmas morning, Moshe (who converted to Judaism in his 20s) sent this note from his San Francisco home.

Holiday blues, even for Jews
Who feast on food from China
The kids they shout
And run about
And cause their father angina.


Moshe Oberstein, Foster City


Moshe was in the Coast Guard that Christmas he helped save the young boy. And by black pudding, he really means plum pudding. Our mom made it in cans with the ends cut off that she'd steam for what seemed like hours.