On Christmas Eve, we would sing the standard carols and my father would solemnly read out loud Clement Clarke Moore’s poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” On Christmas morning my sister and I would arise at dawn and sit impatiently in front of the tree, waiting to open dozens of presents that had come in from across the Lemann family’s expanse of relatives, friends, and law-firm clients. Once or twice, Father went to a good deal of effort to arrange to have a grandly presented roast suckling pig, with a small apple stuffed in its mouth for decoration, which is about the most unkosher dish imaginable, as the main course at our Christmas dinner.journey-inline-newsletterinline-newsletter