I never saw it coming.
The paper I must have started reading before dozing off was all but crinkled into a ball after one of the grandkids landed with a thud. Seconds later number two jumped on board.
Years earlier such a rude awakening would have been met with a bit of a growl, but I didn’t mind, I was just glad to see them. It’s now Christmas 2032.
The grandkids love coming to papa’s house and snuggling in the big leather club chair. In between the crackle of well dried hardwood they had helped split and lug in the summer before, there was a chance to reinforce a life lesson – the notion of being prepared for winter and working hard.
I got up to put another log on the fire and could hear them chattering away – “You’re too old-fashioned papa” one was heard to say. “He is not” the other countered – “he is not”.
Returning to the chair knowing full well the call to supper could be any minute I asked for one more snuggle. The flames in the stove danced around the room, ricocheting off dozens of family photos and heirlooms in papa’s cozy rec room. Once our big dinner was over the kids would go back to their place or off to see the other side of the family. Run, run, run I thought, but I had felt that way for years, riding a vicious treadmill to nowhere in the end.
The younger of the two shook my arm a little “You going to sleep papa?” she asked. “Oh no” I said “just resting my eyes”. Every papa can fib a little here and there. I was actually remembering 30 years earlier snuggling with their moms, the twins, wondering where the time had gone. We had some great naps back in the day. Most Sundays we would watch a Disney movie that almost always ended up with the three of us snoring on the couch.
The older grandchild, the one that had risen to my defense moments earlier, tugged at my other arm. “Can you do the story about the Christmas that almost wasn’t?” he said. “I am not sure we have time for that one today,” I said. “It’s almost supper.” The little one with eyes that would melt your heart said, “Come on papa – do the story.”
Recognizing I had spent most of my life chiding my own kids to make time for family, I was at a bit of a moral crossroads – take the time or be a complete hypocrite. I quickly started the story of our family and the year Christmas almost wasn’t.
“Christmas has always been a big tradition for us. From getting a tree in the bush to decorating the house top to bottom. Our house smelled like Christmas. It was Christmas.
“After going to church Christmas Eve we would have a big family dinner at your great grandma’s.
“Your moms and dads, aunts and uncles would be so very excited when they were little. Once home everyone got to open one present which was almost always flannel pyjammas.
“Christmas morning always started early. Presents would flow like a tidal wave from under the tree. Stockings were filled to the brim and the house was full of people, enjoying the day.
“Family, food, sharing time together – these were the measures of a merry Christmas.
“But one year that all changed.
“It was 2020 when a nasty virus swept around the globe.
“People couldn’t get together as they once did. They called it the year of the bubble and some families had to spend time alone. There was fear and there was anger. It did not feel like Christmas at all.
“Even the stores usually bustling with people right up until Christmas Eve served only a few at a time.
“Church was not allowed that year. There was no singing, no warm embraces of peace and no dinner at great grandma’s. It was all so sad.
“Kids began to wonder if Christmas would even happen since they knew the rules. How would Santa with a mask get there to put presents under the tree?”
It was at that point the call for supper finally came. As I leaned forward to head upstairs both grandkids pulled me back to hear the ending of the story of that infamous year. Perhaps it was the part about presents that grabbed their attention. Nevertheless, I started with the story again.
“Christmas was good,” I said, “perhaps the best one ever. It was the year people renewed their faith, which is a very personal thing. People who missed church that year filled the pews the next. When the minister invited them to shake hands or embrace those around them that next year – the hugs were real and handshakes sincere. ‘Peace to you – and also to you,’ they convincingly said. The quiver in their voices reflected the great test of their faith the previous year.
“It was a year people valued their family more and chose health over fun. Good things come to those who can wait, it was said. The Christmas after there was great jubilation and people opened their homes. Families did not rush from that day on, happy instead to just be, well…. happy.”
At that moment I looked down, having delivered the last of my story, to find papa’s little grandkids fast asleep. Not knowing where I lost them in that magnificent story, I closed my eyes too, pondering the many blessings life has brought my way.
That peaceful moment was shattered seconds later by invitations blaring from the floor up above. They must have tried a few times before all impatiently descending and declaring in a loud voice, “It’s supper dad, time to wake up.” Shaking off what I thought was a short nap, there they were – all my kids, still kids ranging in age from 8 to 21. The newspaper, clearly bunched in a ball was datelined 2020 with best Christmas wishes to all. What a nap that had been.
“There’s something for you upstairs that came when you were sleeping,” the youngest let out. As I cleared the last step and rounded the corner it was time to close my eyes for the big surprise. Shuffling along until something blocked my way, my third daughter exclaimed, “Merry Christmas daddy”.
And there it was – that big leather chair, like the one in my dream.
Good times lay ahead, indeed.
