My 2009 Christmas story

While I was driving home the other day from karate with Trey, I had been reading a book containing short stories by one of my favorite authors. While contemplating this story, I was reminded of another short Christmas story by Neil Gaiman I had read in the last couple years. Knowing that I was nowhere near the skill of these folks, yet wanting to contribute to the story telling genre, I started thinking about combining some of my experiences into a short story.

In the past couple years, as I have attempted to write more for my career, I have dabbled with writing in other areas. Some of the stories have been written about dreams that I or others have had, some have been about Halloween or scary topics. I enjoy writing, and hope to do more to hone this skill.

This story is about my experience with Christmas. It details a ritual that I always remember participating in and enjoy sharing with my children. I share it here with all of you now. If you are part of my family, you may well recognize this experience and correlate it to your own. If not, I hope that you may enjoy mine, and possibly incorporate it into your own holiday traditions, if it merits it. With no further delay, I present to you my Christmas 2009 story.



Seeing Him
In spite of the cold, it always makes me feel so young. It only happens once a year. Each year I yearn to experience it as if it were the first time that I remember from so many years ago. I yearn to believe and continue to believe. Although an entire year has been added to my age each time it happens, I quickly regress to the era before I was the one being called Dad. Back in time I would travel, to when I was eager to venture into the frigid night, to stand with rapt attention peering into the darkened sky, searching for the sign. The feelings welling up inside of me always cause me to reverse in age, if only for a brief stint. The excitement I experience, waiting to catch a glimpse of my oldest friend. I believe that he has always been there, though we only rarely commune. He is up there now, I know it. I’ve always known it. I believe it. High overhead; out of sight; never too far from my thoughts. For some, he has ceased to be. Luckily, this has not yet happened to me. As far back as I can recall I would brave the weather, entering into the cold night, to go through the annual ritual of seeing him again. Just on this one night and ever so briefly. In my mind’s eye I can make out every detail of him, along with his trusty steeds. Regardless of my age, or maybe because of it, the details seem always be clearer than they should be. When I was the child, the details were just bits and pieces of the whole vision. As I aged, the details would alter as my experiences were developed. What I never realized as that child from long ago was that all this vision started with a single color. The color red. No matter what was in the sky, at the suggestion of that blinking red light sailing overhead, the vision begins. Real or not, the rest of the dream wasn’t actually there at all. Yet it seemed then as clearly as it seems today to be so real. The rest of the details simply became real as it filled itself in; as I believed. Now I perform the role of the Dad, the ritual continuing, granting my children the opportunity to have their one on one encounter with him. To call him their friend as I have. The mere suggestion of that glowing red orb is all it takes to begin to paint the entire picture, and once again meet my old friend. I look forward to meeting him again and again and relish the chance to introduce him to each of my children with every passing year. On marches time, on continues the ritual, each year waxing and waning, and the belief gets stronger as the seasonal reunion approaches. I believe.