One for the History Books

Well, the chill in the air is gone, and the freak ice and snowstorms have passed, and now I’m bored again, so I’m back to writing. I’ve been bad. Very bad. I have had all of these thoughts rolling around in my head, but just too lazy to get it out. Laziness. That’s really the only excuse, but I’m very good at being so lazy, so it’s legitimate. I meant to write of my holiday travels and travails, but frankly, it was all relatively functional, and dare I say…enjoyable? Of course, it’s not hard to receive a passing grade in my book. Consider some of my past holiday seasons.

I remember one Christmas where we pushed my Dad too far. We went hunting for our Christmas tree a little late that year, and as my father was squeezing our hurried purchase through the six inches of space between my brother and I, we responded, moved by the holiday spirit, in typical teenage fashion with something like “this tree blows Dad…” or “you’re lame.”    

He got that crazed look in his eye, and 10 minutes later, after having laid down the pedal, rubber thoroughly burnt, and frantic traffic dodging in silence through parking lots of one big box hardware store to the next when my father finally stopped and marched into Home Depot. My brother and I found ourselves in a predicament where what happened next was a blur. What I remember is that when it was all said and done, my family rode home in silence, my brother and I hunched over, necks painfully angled, perched atop two separate Christmas trees.  Our Christmas cup, had runneth over, and we kept our mouths shut.

Then of course, there was the one year, very long ago, when my brother was still a toddler. It was the 80’s. Marriage was hard, and the only thing worse than tax season in the 1980's, was trying to make the holiday “perfect” when things were less than. My parents had bought a beautiful tree, (honestly). The Christmas carols were going, the house smelled of roasted meat, and earlier that week, we had visited a new church and were feeling what I can only describe as a healthy dose of the magic of the season.

We were gathered around our tree, twinkling and bright, with a choir of angels on the Hi-Fi. For those 30 seconds, all was right and good. But in the blink of Santa’s eye, disaster fell.

What I remember plays out in my head, in slow motion, to the music from Apocalypse Now. My father, beaming, turned to light the fire…struck a match… and an ember flew. We all turned our heads the same direction, tracking the spark…willing it to fall short. It did not. It landed like calculatingly evil snow on our perfect tree, and was still. Then flash…the fire and smoke spread up the tree and for some reason, the outside of the fireplace, like water.

My parents made horrified eye contact, and simultaneously jumped into action, while my brother and I probably jumped up and down, wide-eyed and clapping, as if we thought this carnage was part of the show. My father ran outside, and for some reason got on the roof? (I’m still not clear why on this one) He fed a water hose down the chimney to my mother, turned it on full force, and let it rip. The tree was put out first, and mostly saved with only the back half of the tree left smoking. My parents continued to work on the fire that had breached the perimeter of the chimney and fireplace. As my parents were screaming directions and orders back and forth, the doorbell rang.

I ran, and as I opened the door, a cloud of soot and the smell of burned Christmas wafted past me. When the cloud cleared, I was shocked. Do you remember the part about my family visiting the new Methodist church a week earlier? Here, in front of my ash-stained, goofy grinning face, was the carol singing, cookie carrying, welcoming committee Pastor and wife, of First United Methodist. In a thrilling turn of events, they were also fully costumed and fully committed to their roles as characters from the works of Charles Dickens. I can only imagine what they saw behind me, as they turned away, mumbling within my earshot, what sounded like “This is why we should call first…” 

So…this Christmas and holiday season, seeing as it was fire free and light on the verbal attacks, got much more than just a passing grade.