Chapter 62: I Think I Will

December 24, 1990, Eve of the Nativity, Circleville, Ohio

The three weeks leading up to Nativity had been routine, both at the hospital and at home. The only downside of switching services was that I had to work most holidays. That included Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, as well as New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, though I had arranged with Kylie to cover my New Year's Day shift.

The schedule meant that we needed to celebrate Nativity on the Eve of the Feast, rather than following the Divine Liturgy, which I would have to miss.

"If we were on the Old Calendar, Nativity would be on a Sunday," Kris said with a smile as we prepared to go to Saint Michael the Archangel for the Vespers for the Nativity.

"But we aren't, so here we are, getting ready for Nativity Vespers!"

Just over two hours later, we were home again, ready to celebrate Charlotte's first Christmas. We had put up the tree on Sunday, but following Orthodox tradition, we hadn't yet turned on the lights. Now, in a mostly darkened room, I pressed the switch to turn them on, and the multiple strands of blue lights came on.

"A beautiful idea," Kris said. "I love the blue glow!"

"It's pretty, Papa!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Thank you. Shall we open presents?"

"Lotta can't open presents," Rachel observed.

"We'll help her, the same way Papa helped you when you were a baby."

"I'm a big girl now!"

"Yes, you are."

To keep our focus on the true nature of the Feast, Kris and I had decided to limit the number of gifts we gave the girls. Unfortunately for us, grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, godparents, and pseudo aunts and uncles were not with the program, so the girls received more than twenty gifts each. For me, the most appreciated were new «косоворо́тки» (kosovorótki) for Rachel and Charlotte, hand-sewn by Oksana. ("Russian peasant shirts")

When we finished opening presents, Rachel was too hyped to go to bed right away, so I got my guitar and played Christmas Carols, though Kris didn't know the words in English to most of them. I sang to Kris and the girls until Charlotte fell asleep, then took a break to put her to bed. Once she was down, I played some of Rachel's favorite songs until she, too, was ready for bed.

Once I had tucked Rachel in, Kris and I decided to take a warm bubble bath together.

"I don't think we're going to be able to keep our plan to limit Christmas gifts," I observed once Kris and I were in the tub with her reclined against me and my arms around her.

"Grandparents do not care at all what parents want with regard to spoiling grandchildren!" Kris declared.

"Not to mention a pair of aunts and a large group of pseudo aunts! At least Lara was restrained."

"There is no possible reason a girl that age should have that kind of money without having done anything except happen to be born to the right family!"

"We're going to have to disagree, and I would very much appreciate it if we could save the political discussion for later."

"I'm sorry," Kris said. "I shouldn't have said that."

"And I shouldn't have, in effect, baited you with the comment about Lara being restrained. I hope you don't mind that I made reservations for an anniversary celebration on New Year's Day evening."

"Where?"

"At The Maisonette, on 6th Street in Cincinnati. It's had a Mobil 'Five Star' rating for twenty-six straight years, and is arguably the best restaurant in the United States. The Head Chef is French, of course."

"And you think that's an appropriate use for our money?"

"I do. I want to take you for a very nice dinner to celebrate our anniversary. The girls will be with my grandparents, and we can pick them up on the way home after dinner. Are you suggesting I cancel the reservations?"

"No. We'll save the debate for another time."

"I don't think it wise to defer the conversation if you're unhappy," I countered.

"Acting nouveau riche is equally problematic as being part of the ancien régime, and in some ways, worse, because the lessons of the past about wealth and privilege haven't been learned."

"And I will counter that 'rags to riches' is the epitome of what it means to be an American. I grew up middle class, so I wouldn't say that's me in any way. Mrs. Kane's son is a perfect example, but you'd object to how he made millions in five years, starting with less than a thousand dollars. I don't begrudge him his wealth, any more than I do Lara or her family their wealth."

"He's the stockbroker, right?"

"He's a hedge fund manager, which I think makes it even worse in your mind. The challenge you have is that a large portion of the money he manages is on behalf of union pension funds, so the wealth he's building is for the working class, or in your terms, the proletariat.

"Perhaps the government should provide a full old-age pension that is sufficient for a comfortable life, but it doesn't, so someone has to do it. Unless and until the system changes, union pension funds, 401(k)s, IRAs, and pension schemes similar to the one offered by the hospital are the only game in town. In my mind, if he can earn better returns by following the law, why shouldn't he?"

"You know the laws are rigged for the bankers and Wall Street!"

"Again, assuming that's true, unless and until the law changes, what he is doing is legal. As I understand how he does business, it's ethical, and similar to how Viktor made his money — hard work, determination, and intelligence. I don't know enough about Lara's stepfather to say how he earned his money, but I daresay it was through legal methods, given he's a senior executive at a publicly traded corporation."

Kris laughed derisively, "As if THAT matters. Corporations lie, cheat, and steal, and their main victims are their employees!"

"Union workers have been among the most well-paid for the last fifty years or so, and our friend who earns the most is a shining example of the proletariat — someone who has only his labor to sell. Oh, wait, that would include me."

"You know very well doctors and lawyers are the new aristocracy."

"Not in Hayes or Harding Counties, they aren't! Well, unless you consider us the equivalent of «кулаки»́ (kulakí) because we'll make more than the median income once you graduate. But once you go «кула́к» (kulák) hunting, where does it stop? Is this house sufficient to house seventeen families?

"What happens when I manage my money better than everyone else, so I have reserves when there is a crisis? Should I be stripped of them for the 'greater good'? If so, what motivates ANYONE to work? As the saying went in Soviet Russia — «Пока боссы делают вид, что платят нам, мы будем делать вид, что работаем» (Poka bossy delayut vid, chto platyat nam, my budem delat' vid, chto rabotayem)." ("So long as the bosses pretend to pay us, we will pretend to work.")

"So we continue with the inequality because socialism isn't perfect?"

"No, we continue with the inequality because capitalism is better, and has raised more people from poverty than any other system yet invented, including socialism. Is it perfect? By no means. Should there be regulations to prevent the worst excesses? Absolutely. But in the end, the profit motive drives wealth creation, and that is to the benefit of all, even if not in the same amounts."

"That flawed 'a rising tide raises all boats' idea?"

"No; I did acknowledge not everyone gains the same. That said, the overall good is better under capitalist systems than under socialist systems. I do not object to a safety net; I object to trying to make everyone equal, rather than working to ensure equal chances to succeed. I'm sure you know the stories of Andrew Carnegie and JD Rockefeller, and from what I've heard, Mrs. Kane's son has followed that pattern. I admit they are outliers, but men like Viktor Kozlov and Yuri Valentinovich Zhuravlyov are not."

"May I suggest a solution?"

"You may."

"Take me to bed and make love to me!"

"A request I will always honor!"

December 30, 1990, McKinley, Ohio

On the last Sunday of the year, I covered Kylie's shift in exchange for her covering my New Year's Day shift. Late in the afternoon, I went up to Maternity to see Lara, who had delivered a bouncing baby boy whom she and Nathan had named David Nathaniel Jones.

"Hi, Mike!" Nathan exclaimed when I walked into Lara's private room.

"Hi, Nathan. Hi, Lara. How are you and David?"

"I feel like I gave birth to a baby elephant!" Lara declared.

"How big?"

"Eight pounds on the dot, twenty-one inches."

"Mind if I look at his chart?" I inquired.

"You're a doctor," Nathan said. "You don't need to ask!"

"Actually, I do, because I'm neither David's doctor nor Lara's doctor, nor was I asked to consult on the case."