Christmas Tales

The first time I went Christmas tree chopping was in upstate New York several years ago. It was right before Christmas and was one of those bone-chilling days when the wind ripped through you like sharp little steak knives. A heavy snow had fallen and as my daughter Rebekah, her cousin and uncle (both named David) and I all trudged through the snow it truly was a Currier & Ives moment. When we found that perfect tree, snow clinging to its full, hearty branches, I almost expected to see Norman Rockwell sitting nearby sketching the scene. Alas, my attempt to recreate that particular holiday event here in Florida a few years back just did not come anywhere near the original.

I suppose the first indication that this experience would be far different came when my family stepped out of the van and into a bright and blazingly hot sun. Despite the fact that Thanksgiving was already behind us, the weather didn't seem to take notice. Instead of being bundled up with parka, gloves and heavy shoes, we found ourselves removing the heavy sweaters we had put on in hopes of a chill wind which never came. No blasts of arctic breeze to worry about here in west central Florida!

Stripped down to the basics of a summer wardrobe we went forward, my wife, two daughters and baby boy in tow, ready to brave the forest and find that perfect tree. As we crested a small hill to look down on the valley of trees that was the dominion of the Christmas tree farm, we were immediately cognizant of the sparsity before us. Due to the drought that plagued Florida that year, the Christmas tree population suffered. I immediately knew this was a moment that was not going to be memorialized on a Christmas card.

"No matter," I cried optimistically, saw in hand as we plunged ahead into the pine, eyes alert for our prey as any good hunter's would be. "There is bound to be a perfect tree our there, somewhere..."

My wife was less than enthusiastic but gamely went forward with me. The girls ran ahead, drifting in and out of view as they navigated the "forest." Rebekah and Elizabeth alternated crying "Look here, Papa!" with "This is a nice one, Mama!" We marched onward, saddened by the row upon row of Charlie Brown-like trees all around. Our son Joseph, just over a month old at the time, seemed to care less where we were or what we were doing. His primary concern was about keeping his favorite toy in his mouth.

Instead of the crunch of ice-crusted snow under our feet, cries of "watch out for the fire ant hills!" filled the air. The drifting snow of that New York winter was replaced with clouds of dust as the sun-scorched earth floated up at our footfalls. The occasional stump which we steered clear of told us that there may have been nice trees here at one time but they were long gone and now decorating a home that was far more fortunate than ours would be that Christmas.

As we zigged and zagged looking for a decent tree that was at least taller than a cocker spaniel I began to get a feeling of desperation. It became evident that water-starved Florida was not going to produce the ideal tree for us. Despite the girls' best efforts we were unable to find a decent tree to bring home. Conceding defeat we rounded the kids up and headed back towards the van. With head down in the shame of being vanquished by a wooden foe, and with the saw dragging glumly on the ground at my side, I was cheered somewhat by my wife's observation that at least we saved some money (at least $20 by our best estimates).

I have to admit we were all disappointed but, with the eternal optimism of youth, the kids reminded us that it wasn't necessarily the outcome (i.e. a freshly cut Christmas tree) but the process (i.e. the time spent as a family) that was truly important. No matter that we ended up pulling our old artificial tree out of the attic and putting it up as we have done for so many years. Admittedly, it was just as beautiful as any fresh woods tree would have been because it was decorated by our family's hands. And that fact was far more important than where it came from.

The sights, foods and music of the holidays are just wonderful. I love Christmas and all the tangibles and intangibles that go into making it merry. I'm the kind of guy who is thrilled to hear Christmas carols playing in Books-a-Million the first week of November. I have to admit that I am one of those people who looks forward to visiting Walmart in August when the Christmas decorations begin to go on sale (that is always a momentous day for our three kids when we take that first stroll down Walmart's "Christmas Aisle"). I'm also someone who likes to travel to Roger's Christmas House in July. For me the holiday season can't come fast enough, and I mourn its passage as it slips away far too quickly.

I don't go crazy with the outdoor trappings, though. You will never see my house on the list of the best decorated, although it's more of the reality of finances than lack of desire on my part! I am also glad I don't live in a neighborhood where everyone tries to outdo everyone else. All of our neighbors just appreciate whatever the other does or does not do. For the past decade or so I've hung out the same tired sets of icicle lights. My wife, tiring of the same old look, surprised me with some new items for the yard. She brought home some of those nice quiet little deer that light up and move slowly. I was so encouraged by the new additions that I've been thinking of tossing out all the old stuff and focusing on starting anew. I just bought a light-up manger scene which should be complemented by the deer family quite nicely. I can picture the peace and serenity of that scene in my mind and remember the true meaning of the Christmas season.

I refuse to put up any of those inflatable snow globes that are all the rage, however. It's not that I don't like them, I think they are great to experience, as long as they are in someone else's yard. And that is what makes that part of the holidays so fun. I enjoy walking with my wife and kids down the various streets to see the carnivals of light and sound that appear to be multiplying exponentially each year on almost every other yard. Spotting the first "Christmas lights" of the season is always a momentous event. Living in downtown New Port Richey we are only a few blocks away from the annual Christmas parade up Grand Boulevard so that has become an annual event for us as well.

My wife and I long ago gave up giving each other Christmas gifts. Instead we love to experience of the holiday season vicariously through the eyes of our three children. By watching their expressions of joy I can recall the wonder of my own youthful Christmases. Growing up in Pennsylvania, one of the highlights of the holidays was traveling with my parents to Allentown to see the huge Christmas tree at the Hess Department Store. The city adjacent to Allentown is Bethlehem. As a youngster of five or six I recall thinking that this was the Bethlehem in which Jesus of Nazareth was born. I still recall the feeling of disappointment when I learned that THE Bethlehem was far, far away from the Keystone State.

Although I did not grow up near the Bethlehem of the Bible, nor do I visit the yuletide tree in Allentown any more, the meaning of the season is no less real to me and my family. Like every other family in our great nation we have our own traditions that we continue to develop and enjoy. I look forward to seeing the traditions my own kids will develop for their families one day. For now, the time to experience our own traditions is at hand. I pray you and yours have a blessed holiday season and a joyous and prosperous new year.

For my daughter Rebekah's seventh birthday our family made a trip to Santa's Land in Cherokee, North Carolina. This Christmas-themed (could you have guessed?) amusement park in the heart of the Smokey Mountains was a memory maker for her when she was just 18 months old. This latest trip would prove to be just that for her 2 ½ year old sister Elizabeth.

Hands down the centerpiece of the park is the Rudi-Coaster. A reindeer with a prominent red nose is mounted on the front of the roller coaster while a toy-bedecked sleigh adorns the rear. The coaster itself, while it can't hold a candle to the thrill rides at Busch Gardens, is exciting enough to make the kids scream in delight. After a day of paddle boats, the Ferris Wheel, merry-go-round and the like, the kids and I decided to take one last ride on good old Rudi.

The three of us squeezed into a car the size of a captain's chair and prepared for our last hurrah of the day. My wife Nancy sat this trip out. I think she knew something we didn't know. Out of the gate the coaster shot and promptly went on its first ascent. An unusual whine from the motor, a sound that was missing on all previous trips, heralded our labored climb to the top of the first hill. Rudi sounded as though he was in need of a nap! As we zoomed around the rails the whine droned out the Christmas carols that normally accompanied the circuitous route of the Rudi-Coaster.

As the coaster pulled up to the loading platform a burly man with a thick belt in his hand hauled himself up onto the sleigh. Was he taking the strap to the poor, overworked reindeer? I thought briefly as he set to work. Sitting near the back of the coaster we were privy to his explanation that a belt needed to be replaced. Masterfully hidden from view under the sleigh, the engine was soon fixed and the coaster lurched forward and we were off for our second trip around the elevated track.

Rebekah and Elizabeth joined in the chorus of squeals as the wind rushed through our hair and the car jerked back and forth, rounding curves and hurtling us seemingly forever forward. As we once again made our approach towards the platform I tightened my grip on the safety bar in preparation for the stop that was not to come. Soon we were whizzing past the station on a third journey. Rebekah and I exchanged glances as we settled back to enjoy another trip above the park. With the Great Smokies as a backdrop we zoomed around and around, eventually heading towards the platform once again.

The car, heading down the final yards to the station, suddenly jerked to a stop, tossing us all forward and ensuring that area chiropractors would be in business for yet another week. The coaster now sat still, well short of the platform. As we all considered, for just a brief moment, of jumping to the ground below, we heard protestations of innocence from the harried ride operator directed toward the burly mechanic. "The brakes caught too soon," I heard him say. Better too soon than too late, I thought to myself. Even though the kids and I were having a great time I was beginning to privately wonder whether it was time to get off of this ill-fated ride. "Run it again," the mechanic directed and with a jerk the coaster took off. I realized that getting back to earth was not an immediate option for us.

On our fourth approach to the platform I braced for the stop that never came. Within moments the platform was behind us as we began our fifth climb. "I guess those brakes still aren't fixed," I muttered, wondering if this trip would ever end. Thanking God for the Dramamine I took earlier in the day I held on to my girls as we made what would be our last hurtle above Santa's Land. As I was beginning to wonder if we would ever get off this ride the platform came into view again. We'll never stop, I thought to myself, ready for another go-round when suddenly the brakes caught and all the passengers pitched forward, wrenching necks and backs into various unhealthy angles. As we slumped back into the seat Elizabeth put her arms high in the air and shouted "yea!"

Even though we were laughing as we climbed down to terra firma we were quick to leave the coaster behind. Our ride on Rudi was a memorable, if unexpected, way to end our day at Santa's Land. My wife, who earlier in the day had videotaped our first trip on Rudyi had ended up falling asleep during this adventure, thus missing the opportunity to tape our multiple journeys. While we have nothing but our memories to remind us of the five trips we took on the Rudi-Coaster, they are good memories. Yes, Elizabeth, it really did happen. Just ask your big sister.

During the 1980 holiday season I was a sixteen year old high school senior. Memories of the big Homecoming Game were still fresh in my mind. In addition to the upcoming Christmas break I was looking forward to receiving responses to my college applications. The last thought on my mind was that that would be the last Christmas I would spend with my father. Neither did I know that the Lord would give me the
greatest Christmas gift a son could ever get.

December was particularly dreary that year in Pennsylvania. It followed a November in which my father reluctantly allowed himself to admitted to the hospital. For many years he had slowly succumbed to the effects of lupus. The inevitability of his death had hung abstractly over my family for a long, long time. Despite his long illness, when he left our house that fateful November day I believe neither my mom nor myself were seriously ready to think that he might not return. When my father lapsed into a coma our thoughts became a fear that we would never hear his voice again.

The hospital was not far from my school. I went to visit him after my classes. While alone, just he and I in his room, I would tell him about my day. I talked about the things we used to do together. I shared my hopes and dreams for my life after graduation. Silence was his response but I knew in my heart that he could hear me. I hoped he was happy.

As Christmas drew closer the thought of my father in a coma, or worse yet actually dying, took the fun out of this most festive of holidays. I thought of all the time we had spent together and yet how fleeting it had all been. I was sad that I had never said or done all the things I wished I had.

As any person who has sat by the bed of someone in a coma knows, in that situation hope and prayer are all you really have left. Just before Christmas that hope was fulfilled and that prayer was answered. My father miraculously awoke from his coma, as alert and bright as he had ever been in his fifty years.

The joy of Christmas had been restored with my father's new life. His physical body was just as sick as before but mentally and in spirit he was a new man. We laughed and talked again. It was wonderful. On Christmas Day my mom and I brought Christmas to my father and the three of us made that hospital room just as happy as our home had ever been.

After the New Year began my father took a turn for the worse. By mid-January he lapsed into a coma again. One month after Christmas, on January 25, 1981, my father went to be with the Lord. As sad as his passing was it will always, at least in my mind, be overshadowed by those precious days I had with my father. My father's new life, as short as it was, was my chance to truly prepare for the passing that had to come.

Many years have passed since that December. I think of him often and still miss him greatly. But I am always comforted by the memories of the greatest Christmas gift I have ever received.