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Our little girl, Alisha, was intent on bringing the
Christmas spirit to her little gray house on OLE Susanna
Street. It seemed there was a bit of "baa humbug" in the
air, since major financial burdens had pressed in on us. I
tried my best to create the warmth of the holiday in our
home, that year, but something was definitely missing.
Alisha knew exactly what was needed.
She found
our old box of Christmas lights up in the rafters of the
garage. Very gingerly, she began to remove them strand by
strand, recalling how her dad would check each one; ensuring
that they still glowed. She plugged them into the wall, and
smiled with each success. In the past, her father had
displayed the Christmas lights on the outside of the house,
but this year Alisha realized that he wasn't "getting around
to it." There was just one week left before Christmas, she
pondered; and it looked as though the holiday was going to
come and go without even a slight glimmer twinkling from
their homestead.
Alisha and
her Dad hadn't said much to each other lately. Oh, she knew
that he loved her but the words never came easy for him.
Ever since she turned thirteen, last year, she and her
father had drifted apart, somewhat. He seemed to enjoy
talking with her brothers because they always had sports and
"guy stuff" to discuss. That was just on the surface,
though, and she knew her Dad felt depressed. Something in
Alisha now told her that her father needed her more than he
cared to admit.
I called
to Alisha to come help with the cut out cookies, but she
didn't answer. Glancing down the hallway toward her bedroom
door, I discerned no movement. Oh, she's probably listening
to her music, I presumed. All of sudden, strange noises
were heard, coming from outside the house. Distracted by the
commotion interrupting his day, Mark went to the front door
and listened for a moment. Shrugging his shoulders, he
shuffled back to his spot in front of the television and let
out a big sigh as he sat down.
I
tiptoed, sock footed, out to the yard in the chilly
afternoon. Looking up and straining to see if there might
be a cat on the roof, I noticed the Christmas lights hemming
the eves over our garage door; apparently still in their
placement process. However, to my confusion, there was no
one on the roof. Once again, I called towards the front
door for Alisha. Slowly, a sweet little face emerged over
the peak of the house. There she was, lights in one hand
and stapler in the other, trying to do what has always been
known in her home as a "man's job." She was grinning from
ear to ear.
I gulped
hard, then smiled and praised my little girl for her
efforts. However, I did suggest that she come down
immediately before she gets hurt. Goodness, she's gutsy, I
thought. Hearing the rooftop conversation from the comfort
of his cozy couch, Mark reluctantly came outside to assess
the situation. He eyed our little rooftop elf, but said nary
a word; He simply turned slowly back toward his abode. As I
followed behind my grumpy husband, I shook my head in
disappointment. The spirit of Christmas was difficult to
feel with the tension in the air and the reason for the
season seemed to have been forgotten. That simple joy of
being together as a family should have been enough, I
pondered. My heart ached, as well, for my daughter's
efforts to bond with, and please her father.
Knowing
that Alisha was determined, I retrieved my jacket from the
closet and headed passed the living room to the front door
to assist her. I halted mid-step, and a grin quickly
replaced my frown, as I surveyed my "scrooge of a husband"
putting on his shoes and jacket. Across the room, I noticed
that the television had finally lost its voice. Seizing the
moment, I sauntered over to the stereo, switched on some
Christmas music, and turned to face my hubby. The room
began to fill with warmth as our eyes met and a knowing
smile was exchanged.
In no time
at all, there appeared to be all kinds of activity heard
from the rooftop of the little gray house on OLE Susanna
Street as the little girl and her daddy laughed and worked
together. Although he clearly stated that "he was pushed
into the job," he DID wink as he said it. Nothing had
changed monetarily for us. Christmas presents would still
be scant but the hearts that lived in the little house were
already richly gifted. It didn't take much to remind us
that the light in our spirit can brighten our world, and the
people we love, if we just take the effort to display it.
Finally,
the spirit of love and joy had arrived just a week before
Christmas. The outline of the homestead became illuminated,
as did the heart of our little girl as she bonded with her
father and tucked away a precious, and brightly lit memory
in the treasure chest of her childhood.
(c) 2003
Ginger Boda -
Rhymerbabe @ aol.com
**Just a note to this
story; ever since that experience, Alisha's Dad has had the
Christmas lights displayed on their home, the day after
Thanksgiving. (Smile :)
Ginger has
contributed to various online publications, such as
Heartwarmers, Insight for the Day, Petwarmers, Write2theheart,
2theheart, and Storytime_Tapestry. Many of her writings can
be found in the archives of Starfish, Sand Dollar and
Driftwood, as well. Ginger weaves faith, traditions and
humor into her stories and poetry, striving to lift the
spirit and cheer the heart. One of her stories, The
Ring of Love, will be featured in the book entitled
Chicken Soup For The Bride's Soul, which
will be released in January 2004. Ginger resides in
Southern California with her husband, Mark, of 27 years, and
three grown children; Jason, 25; Danny, 22; and Alisha, 19.
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May you be blessed today.
Bob Johnston
Editor / Publisher |
