The Christmas Gift

I was just on the phone with a good friend and wished them a Merry Christmas Eve. At that moment, I remembered that it was my mother's birthday. She would have been eighty years old this very day. 

In her living years, Mom held an open house party on Christmas Eve. From as far back as I can remember, everyone in Breton Woods who were year rounders would attend as well as others from all over. She prepared days ahead of time for this event. No meal would be served, but she'd prepare all sorts of appetizers, many of which were only made this one day out of the year. I would continuously get my hands slapped for sneaking a bit during the day. Guests would sometimes also bring a little something.

Dot Wood lived at the other end of Edwards Road. She, along with her daughter Janie and her husband Bill from New Hampshire would always attend the party leaving their three children with one early-opened Christmas gift each to keep them entertained while they were gone.

Then, around 5:00, Mom would utter those two familiar, loving, Holiday words I'd come to know so well on this once a year event...

"Get out."

Every year it was the same thing. As soon as I was old enough to walk down the street without an adult holding my hand, I'd be sent up to Dot Wood's house to spend the evening with her grandchildren. I didn't mind, really. Actually, they were very good friends and I always looked forward to spending any time I could with them. We always had so much fun. Mom would always bribe me with a plate of all the appetizers I wanted to make me leave faster.

"...except those. And these... and you can have just ONE of those." Oh well. It was still a much looked forward to Holiday meal.

The evening would pass all too quickly and the next thing I knew it was around midnight. Dot, Janie and Bill would return telling me it was time for me to head back home. Looking back, I recall it was almost always a White Christmas. The walk home was accompanied by a deafening silence, broken only by the squeaking of the snow beneath my feet. I remember stopping at the end of the walkway to admire my home that was always so tastefully decorated. The snow-covered house looked so charming with a single, white candle light in each window, backed by gossamer-white curtains, and a beautiful green wreath hanging on the red-painted front door. Next to the walkway, there was a great red bow tied on the old, wrought iron world's fair street lamp. And of course the obligatory Christmas Tree was in the Breezeway window. The house looked like a Christmas card straight out of Courier and Ives.

I don't know what got into me that one, late night. Perhaps it was the fact that the ladder was conveniently left out on the side of the house, or just seeing through the window upon squeaking on up the walkway that there were still a few stragglers enjoying one last glass of "Christmas Cheer" with my mom and dad. Whatever it was, I got it in my head to do something silly that would be remembered by a select, few guests for many years to come.

I quietly made my way over to the ladder and carefully placed it up against the house by the dining room roof, which was pretty much flat and climbed up onto the roof. Easy enough. But then I had to make my way across the main part of the house where the roof was a steep enough angle making it a bit dangerous to navigate when it was covered with snow. But I made it without incident and manage to make it to the chimney without alerting the guests below.

Luckily, it was late and my father had let the fire die down to mere glowing cinders making it possible for me to stick my head over the chimney and listen in to the conversation below. There we perhaps three conversations going on at once accompanied by laughing and all sorts of carrying on. I waited for the right moment.

"Ho-ho-ho..." I said in a deep voice down the chimney.

The conversation below died instantly. I heard my mother say, "Did you hear that?"

"I heard something..." someone replied.

I was very patient and waited quite some time for their conversation to continue, forgetting all about the mysterious voice.

Then, when the conversation was somewhat low...

"Ho-ho-ho..." I said, a bit louder this time.

Again, instantly - dead silence .

"Wait a minute..." someone said.

"If you don't put out the fire," I continued, "...you won't get any Christmas Presents!" I yelled down.

"CHRIS!" my mother yelled. The room burst out in laughter and broke out in multiple demands for me to come down off the roof and join the party.

Well, needless to say this story was told over and over, year after year by everyone that was there that early Christmas morning so long ago.

The years passed, and I was having a heart to heart talk with my mother a few weeks before she passed on. We talked about everything, including the story I've told you now.

"I don't think you realize what a precious gift you gave everyone that night, Chris." my mother said with bright eyes and her famous smile.

"Of course I do," I replied, "...I was there, remember?"

"No, I mean I don't think you REALISE what you did that night." she said, with that look that said she knew something I didn't. "You made a room full of grown adults believe in Santa Clause." she said flatly.

"Get outta here." I said, waving her off.

"No, think about it. You didn't see the look on everyone's face when you played your little prank. Everyone's eyes were as big as ever. They were all completely blown away. Anyway, you have to realize that they all had to go where you took them first, and only THEN could they reason it out that it was a joke." she said in earnest. "It's human nature. If only for a split second, they had to go there first to conclude it had to be a joke. You actually made all those people - grown adults, BELIEVE... however briefly... in Santa Clause.

I hadn't thought about it like that until that moment.

We all have to grow up some time. But no matter how much we grow into adulthood, I believe that there is always a trace of childhood in all of us that survives. I think we all have looked up into the star filled sky on Christmas and think of how wonderful it was to believe. And so, we pass that wonder down to our children, and they to their children. But some of us, if we're lucky will hold on to a piece of that childhood wonder. I know my mom did and so do I.

Merry Christmas Mom, and Happy Birthday. I miss you.

Chris