The Store That Never Closed: Remembering My Dad During the Holidays
A Holiday Memory Rooted in Family, Faith, and Hard Work
The holidays always bring my dad back to me.
Not quietly.
Not softly.
But in a rush—of memories, motion, and meaning.
My dad owned an Italian-American grocery store, Gemma’s. And while it didn’t literally stay open every day of the year, during the holidays it felt like it never stopped.
Christmas was one of the few days the store did close—but everything leading up to it was full throttle.
Christmas Eve at the Store: Tradition, Community, and Commitment
On Christmas Eve, we stayed open until 6 p.m., busy right up until the very last customer walked out the door. The shelves were stocked with all the Italian products our community and the city relied on—seven fishes, bacala, and specialty items you couldn’t easily find anywhere else.
Our family-run business was at the heart of the neighborhood during the holidays. The catering side of the store was buzzing too: cooked turkeys lined up and ready, and my mom’s famous apple pies moving in and out like clockwork.
It truly took a village.
Our entire family worked side by side with the employees my dad cherished so deeply. People worked around the clock to keep shelves stocked and customers cared for. At the time, it felt exhausting and normal all at once. Only later did I realize how extraordinary it was.
Christmas Eve at Home: Food, Faith, and Family Traditions
Once the store finally closed on Christmas Eve, we headed home—where my mom, after working all week and all day on Christmas Eve, hosted my father’s extended family for dinner.
The house filled with food, voices, and laughter. This was our Christmas tradition. After dinner, we stayed up late, went to midnight Mass, and then returned home to open Christmas presents together.
Those nights were long.
They were full.
And they were sacred in their own way.
The Gift My Dad Wanted Most: Respect
My dad was the hardest person in the world to shop for.
He didn’t want things. He didn’t make lists. The only thing he ever said he wanted was respect.
Just respect.
One year, my sister and I decided to have a little fun with that. We wrapped six empty boxes and placed a card inside each one with a single word written on it:
RESPECT
He loved that gift more than anything else he ever received.
That moment stays with me because it captured who he was so perfectly.
Leadership Lessons from a Family-Run Business
The store mattered deeply to my dad—but not because of money or recognition. It mattered because it represented responsibility, pride, and service to others.
Through his example, he taught us about leadership, work ethic, and commitment—not in speeches, but in action. He showed us what it meant to show up, day after day, for family, employees, and community.
These early lessons shaped who I became:
How I lead
How I commit
How I balance responsibility and heart
How I understand respect as something earned, not demanded
Remembering Loved Ones During the Holidays
Now, during the holidays, I think about all of this more than ever.
I think about the hum of the store on Christmas Eve.
About our family working together without complaint.
About my mom’s apple pies.
About midnight Mass and tired eyes.
About a man who wanted nothing more than respect—and earned it every single day.
The store may be gone.
My dad is gone.
But the lessons remain.
Holiday Reflections on Legacy, Gratitude, and Love
And when the holidays feel busy or emotional or full, I pause and remember: some of the most meaningful things in our lives are built in motion, not stillness.
They’re built in love.
In effort.
In commitment.
They’re built in places that feel like they never quite close.
A Gentle Reflection for the Season
As the holidays approach, I invite you to reflect:
What family traditions shaped you more than you realized at the time?
Who modeled leadership and love through action, not words?
How might you honor their legacy this holiday season?
Sometimes remembering is its own kind of gift.
A Note from the Author
Many of the stories in my book, The Long Way Here, were written as a way to honor moments like these—the quiet lessons, the family traditions, and the people who shaped who I became. Writing them down has been one of the most meaningful ways I’ve found to remember, reflect, and carry those lessons forward.
