Each year, since The Champ was born, my father's sister has held a party in Vermont. It's become something of a family reunion. As has The After Party at our lodging, which usually involves the consumption of locally brewed beers and, this year, in a rented ski condo, watching The Empire Strikes Back on a vintage Zenith television.

The rental company called our suite "Copenhagen" but I've re-dubed it "Frat Haus," since I assumed it contained all the furniture some poor schlub wasn't permitted to take with him when he moved back to civilization, yet couldn't bring himself to burn.

Actually, the accommodations were an improvement from last year.

Last year The After Party came with locks that didn't work, water that wasn't hot and after-hours construction folks pouring concrete at midnight. The morning realization that there was no railing at the end of the walkway to the second floor rooms, where the kids had rocketed back and forth all night as we sat and talked and imbibed, was just a bonus.