Jimmy’s Note:

For those of you who didn’t know, I was born on Christmas Day 1946, the day W.C. Fields died. I think this only goes to prove that God does have a sense of humor, but being born on Christmas was rough going at first. The most obvious scam was to try and double up on presents. “Here’s your Birthday and Christmas present.” I even knew at that young tender age that a scam was in progress and it did not sit well with me. More importantly, it did not sit well with my mother, who made it known, in no uncertain terms to the aunts, uncles and cousins of the Buffett clan strung out along the Gulf coast, that she expected two presents for her bouncing baby boy-one for his birthday and one for Christmas. On the whole it worked quite well, though there were a few Scrooge like occurrences where I would get socks for my birthday and a tie for Christmas. This probably is the reason I never have liked to wear either since.

Today, I sit quietly on the shores of Peconic Bay reflecting back for a moment on a half of century of life. Time can be measured in many different ways. Hell it’s been twenty years since I had hair. I have been flying planes for ten years, my grandfather died 28 years ago, and so it goes. I am not clinging like some parasite to my forties, thinking that the best is over. I can look back at five decades where fun and joy have been far more visible in my life than suffering and sadness, and think that I was truly born under a lucky star. I also feel that the best is yet to come. So here in the Christmas season of 1996, it is my turn to give you a present for the holidays. Christmas Island is a collection of songs, not ladled over with sugary sentimentality and not too far out there in the strange corridors down which my mind sometimes wanders, and I hope it is what you would expect from the Christmas War baby turned island boy born on the day W.C. Fields died.

– Jimmy Buffett, Sag Harbour, NY