I can’t believe Christmas is almost
here. Can you?
And since it’s been a rough year for a
lot of folks, me included, I decided to veer off my usual course—give you
something uplifting—and share a Christmas story. This originally published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tales of
Christmas and Chicken Soup for the
Soul: The Gift of Christmas. (Check sidebar on the right for links to the
books.) I hope you enjoy. God bless you all.
It had been more than twenty years since my father’s
death, and Christmas loomed a few months away. As always, I missed Dad
terribly. Not only did I long for him, I needed to remember—things I was afraid
of forgetting.
Dad had a way of making me feel special, smart,
pretty—all the things I didn’t usually feel around others. The love was always
there—in his eyes. And when I saw this, I knew everything was going to be all
right.
Knowing Mom would have what I needed, my husband and
I went to her place the next day. I hauled out a box of her old pictures,
searching for photographs of Dad, while my husband read the paper.
Sifting through the box, I came across an old 5x7
photograph I’d never seen. Dad’s classic smile lit up his face. My gaze
traveled toward his eyes, until something distracted me—moose antlers.
Seriously.
Huge antlers stuck out, one on each side of his
head.
Can you believe that?
I finally figured out, thanks to Mom, that someone
snapped the photo at the Moose Lodge with Dad standing in front of the mascot.
Antlers and all, I still wanted the picture.
A few hours later, I hopped into the truck and
flashed the photo in front of my husband. “Isn’t it great?”
“What’s up with the antlers?”
I flipped my hand. “Oh, it was taken at the Moose
Lodge.”
“Oh… that’s too bad.”
“I still want a copy.”
I set the picture on the compartment between the
seats. “Whatever you do, do not lose this.”
“I’m not going to lose your dad’s picture,” he said,
as if I was accusing him of already having done the deed.
Men.
We arrived home and went into the house. And can you
guess who went off and left the picture in the truck?
Moi.
The next day, when I finally remembered, I called my
husband’s cell phone. “Do you have Dad’s photo?”
“Yes, dear, and it’s fine.”
“Oh, thank God. Where is it?”
“I’ve already put it inside the compartment, so it
will be safe.”
“Well, just don’t forget it when you get home.”
Ahem… like I did.
“I won’t.”
My husband came home from work, and I bolted into
the kitchen, holding out my hand. “Well?”
“Is the truck
locked?”
“Yeah, but I’ll get
it the next time I go out.”
I jiggled my hand.
“Give me the keys.”
“Oh for Pete’s sakes,
Deb.”
He fished his keys
out of his pocket and dangled them in front of me.
I grabbed them, went
out and unlocked the truck, reached inside and flipped the compartment open.
When I saw Dad and his antlers, relief washed over me.
After I returned to
the kitchen, I pulled open a drawer on the china cabinet and slipped the
snapshot inside, vowing to copy it later.
Did I mention that
I’m a serious procrastinator?
A few days before
Christmas, I remembered the snapshot, so I went to the china cabinet and pulled
the drawer open.
The photograph was
gone.
I fished through
papers, trinkets, and more until I finally reached the bottom.
Nothing.
When my husband came
home from work, I again bolted into the kitchen. “Have you seen Dad’s picture?”
He tossed his keys on
the counter. “What are you talking about?”
“You know—the one
with the antlers. Weren’t you standing here the day I put it in the drawer?”
“I don’t know. I
don’t remember now.”
I rolled my eyes. I
don’t know. I don’t remember now.
Men.
A few days later, and
still no picture, I made the mistake of saying something to Mom.
“You lost your
father’s picture?” she said.
Why couldn’t I keep
my mouth shut?
“No, Mom. I misplaced
it is all. I’ll find it.”
But I didn’t.
Ho. Ho. Ho.
I later wrapped the
gifts for my husband, his family, my family, and then placed them under the
tree. As I stood there, I noticed something.
Why weren’t there any
presents under the tree for me?
Christmas Eve
arrived, and we went to his parents’ house, as we did every year, and had a
nice time with his family. They gave me gifts.
On the way home, a
thought popped into my brain. I’ll bet he slipped my presents under the tree
before we left for his mom and dad’s house.
We arrived home, and
like a child, I went rooting under the tree—nothing there. I knew I’d receive
gifts when my family arrived Christmas night, but knowing this didn’t help. A man
should have a gift for his wife come Christmas morning.
Bah. Humbug.
Wait.
Christmas morning.
I slapped my
forehead. Of course, he was going to sneak it under the tree before I got out
of bed. How silly could I be? I snickered with glee, like the child I used to
be.
I looked under the tree—still nothing.
How dare he?
I waved my hand. “You mean your gifts?”
I walked over, retrieved his presents, and dropped them on the coffee table in front of him. He patted the sofa. “Aren’t you going to sit by me?”
Did he want to survive to see Christmas next year?
I sat down.
He opened his first two gifts, ever so happy, while I sat there and pouted.
Hello? What was wrong with this picture? (No pun intended.)
He paused. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
I cradled my head in my hands, secretly hoping he’d fall in. The next thing I knew, a large package came sliding across the floor in front of my feet. I raised my head, and my eyes widened.
He smiled and pointed. “Open it.”
I ripped the paper off, gasped, and then bawled.
Right in front of me sat a large framed picture of Dad—the one with the antlers, only the antlers were gone. It looked like Dad had posed in a professional studio—a heavenly one at that.
“How did you do this?” I croaked.
“Thought I didn’t get you anything, didn’t you?”
His chest swelled, bless his heart.
“Oh, and I had it digitally re-mastered for you,” he added.
I stared at the picture. Memories of Christmases past, even those I thought I had forgotten, flooded my heart as I looked in my father’s eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, suddenly noticing the same love in my husband’s eyes as he looked at me.
Men.
I hung the picture, knowing everything was going to be all right.
No comments:
Post a Comment