Today is the Christmas of my ancestors.

[Oleg Bach]

There is a bit of melancoly in my soul to day in the fact that I almost forgot that it was Christmas..Then I was reminded when the old Ethiopian Church next door started a bit of a drum pounding racket around midnight last night...Then I remembered. It was my Christmas - the eve that my father died - the day that the woman who bore my children was born.

What pains me is that millions that are dead because under the old Soviet system much like the American revolutionary folks who had a war cry "No King but Jesus" - Much like the old Russians they refused to bow down to the power of men who assumed the place of God - Then I pine in the memory of the day I saw my father crying in the loft - He was an iconoclast...literally. As a four year old boy I observed my dad on his knees weeping for all that was lost.

In his hands was a slab of old poplar wood..an Icon that was probably 300 years old..suddenly a surge of rage over took my dad...as I watched in secret..he smashed the Icon..kind of sad in the fact that it was probably worth big bucks..and sad in the fact that he beleived that Christ had failed him...when it was not Christ that failed but the base unruly nature of mankind that scarred my poor father...I guess that was my earliest memory..the smashing of an idol..

Christ in my thoughts was about intelligence - civility - human indivicual dignity..and above all - that every man is a KING. It seems that being an iconoclast runs in the blood...it is becoming evident that I am one also.