A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens
Now, you might be thinking, this is really not a very Christmasy quote that might be favored by someone who loved Christmas. But my father adored Christmas. It was his favorite time of year. And he always began our pre-Christmas celebration by reading from his favorite Christmas book. He had a long scarf that he loved to fling around his neck and pretend that he was Bob Cratchit. His blue eyes would twinkle and we would all smile because, indeed Mr. Christmas was going to make it all happen...again.
Up with the tree. Only on the night of December 21st. Why do it on the first day of winter? I have no idea. But you knew it was going to happen. And why argue? The tree was always a fir and the stand might be old and rusty and needing a few bolts and screws, but Mr. Christmas had it done in a flash. He moved at superhuman speed, at least to me. Lights, what we call the old-fashioned kind now, ornaments, ropes of glittering garland, and lots and lots of tinsel. Can't have a Christmas tree without tinsel, can you?
Gifts. Many gifts. We wrapped the ashtrays, special calendar books, picture frames that we had made in school. We never went to the store and bought a gift for our parents..and especially not for Mr. Christmas. He would have been disappointed. Wrapping paper spent the better part of the year in a large suit box from Block and Kuhl department store, neatly folded with hardly a tear anywhere, in the bottom of the hall closet. We always saved our Christmas paper from year to year. And Mr. Christmas was a pro at wrapping. He would find the yardstick and long sharp scissors. We would stand around the dining room table and watch in amazement while he eyed the present, estimated the needed length to wrap it correctly, use the yardstick to make a perfectly straight line, cut, fold, and, presto , a perfectly wrapped package would appear. Completed with ribbon(which had been smoothed out before) and a nametag...To Uncle Wallis, with love from Derek . And under the tree it would go.
Soda pop. Yes, in those days we only got soda on very special occasions. Mr. Christmas would jump in the 1936 Plymouth and hurry down to the market and pick up a carton of Coca Cola, 7-Up, and.....Green Rock Soda. Only the best for Mr. Christmas. And each bottle was treated like the finest wine. We could choose one to drink, but only one per day. Had to make them last, or so Mr. Christmas said.
And the food. Christmas Dinner was a stately affair. The best of everything. And everyone dressed up in their best. Mr. Christmas at the head of the table, carving the turkey. My mother serving mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, sweet potatoes, real dressing that smelled of sage and onion. Perfect little square of Christmas salad on tiny plates. Relish tray full of pickles and olives and things we didn't see except at Christmas. And pumpkin pie. We always had pumpkin pie. Why? Because....it was Mr. Christmas' favorite.
After dinner we might go for a walk. If it had snowed we'd run and get our sleds and go for a quick trip or two down a nearby hill. (In flat-as-a-pancake central Illinois, hills were in short supply).
And Mr. Christmas? He would sit in his chair near the sparkling tree, light up his pipe, hum to himself and reflect on another perfect Christmas. And maybe take a nap. A sweet reward for a very tired, but very happy Mr. Christmas.
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