The whole family is here, and everyone wants a song. It's 10 p.m., Christmas, and four guitars are passed through the small group gathered on the lanai. It's cold, but not too cold, in the deep south tonight. They've come from all over the state. I've come the farthest, from New York City, to be with my cousins and brothers and parents for the holidays. There is so much I've missed; births, weddings, break-ups, illnesses, accomplishments. Most of all, I've missed nights like this, quiet moments of brilliance when I am again awed by my good fortune in being born in this particular place, to this amazing group of people.

My brother plays Poison, his voice as soft and deep as the night. He is the real musician. The rest of us just dabble. My father looks on quietly, but he is really somewhere else. His heart is taking him back to the late sixties, when he grew his hair long and traveled the country with his guitar, playing on street corners and to the crowds at sit-ins. Now his instrument is old and the strings give off at sligthly tinny sound. Finally, he picks it up and begins to strum. Let it Be, a song that has been played in my home for as long as I can remember. My brother catches the chords, and they play together.

The door opens and a little brown bundle stumbles onto the porch, followed by my mother. My brother's two-year-old daughter should be sleeping, but she'll fight it until she collapses. She looks bewildered for a moment. Most of these faces are unfamiliar to her. Then, with a big smile, she sees Pop-pop and daddy, and she sees me. In a moment she is in my lap on the porch swing. She is warm and light, and smells of bubblegum shampoo. I rock her, and her body relaxes, but she thinks better of it. She wriggles off my lap and walks over to her daddy. What is he doing? My brother stops mid-verse as she touches her hand to his guitar. Of his two true loves, this little girl is the greatest. There has been so much confusion, so much struggle in the last year, so much to bring his daughter home, to have her here for Christmas. One day, she'll understand. One day, he'll give her the gift of music, the way my father gave it to us. The world stops for a moment, with only my father's voice resonating in the background, 'There will be an answer, let it be...'

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