My father emphasized traditions and Christmas was no exception Always, button up shirts and glasses of eggnog around the dinner table Regardless of heavy and humid Decembers in Alabama But none was heavier than when his seat was left bare My mother bought the biggest tree, it scraped the ceiling And never had I seen so many presents piled under Yet my two brothers and I found ourselves unfeeling Without enthusiasm for the impending holiday So, in silence we sat, having felt detached From traditions we had always cherished Until my mom pulled out my dads caps That read “Coast Guard” and passed them around They were worn down but they felt right And they reminded us of his presence So since then, caps are for Christmas and eggnog is forbidden We never really needed a tree of such an imposing height