211223 Sentinel, Christmas Joys

‘Christmas With Dad’

Christmas is the time when I remember Christmases from my past.

I’ve been writing letters at Christmas for a long time now. Many of them were sad when I was in the Navy and away from home. To those alive in body and those alive only in spirit, I offer my regrets and ask forgiveness. My dad read all of my letters. In all the years, he wrote three to me. But I knew he loved me, as he loved all six of his children. Mom was the writer, and I’ve been told I take after her, more than my dad.

Christmas is a wonderful holiday. It evokes unparalled joy and often sadness. I remember the wonders of the day as a child! My father, “The King of Christmas” kept Christmas like no other person I knew of, except for Joyce. There were times when I was a child, only the top of the tree was visible. The base had a wall of packages for his six children, for in-laws, outlaws, teachers and preachers, people I didn’t even know. My father never said: “I love you.” He wasn’t one for hugs all around. You were just supposed to know by what he did, not what he said. On Christmas he always made sure those who wanted to be with us had a ride to and fro. He and Mom made sure there was a gift for everyone who attended. My dad never came out and said it as such, but he showed all of us the important thing to him was his family. He kept the peace. He kept the family together. We have not all been together for the day since his death, and likely never will.

I’m sure a psychologist would be able to come up with a host of reasons why he was what he was from the harsh upbringing he had. As a child he worked to support himself and his Mother. He did his time in the Army during World War II. He drove an ambulance on the graveyard shift after the war. He drove a truck in St. Louis for most of his adult life. Once a year his true self escaped. For that one magical day a year, he was free to display his love for all in the way he could, with gifts. The rest of the year, he was very private. He gave, he loaned to all those in need throughout the year, but only at Christmas was his generosity obvious to all.

Dad was no saint. He was very authoritarian. He was difficult, to put it mildly. But he died with six children that loved him, and that is becoming a rarified accomplishment in our world of today.

As I relive the Christmases, I can sit here with a smile on my face and tears in my eyes, at the same time. As the years go by, my memories of past Christmases still stir my emotions. The years have slipped away and most of the people who made those memories are no longer left to share those memories with.

This picture was taken on Christmas of 1988.

Dad must have thought it was okay to affection for one time. In the years since he died, that shirt he was wearing had been washed countless times, yet I still felt a bit of my dad every time I wore it. I guess that’s why it was one of my favorite shirts. All but 2 of the shirts he left are worn out and gone. The tools he left me are a reminder of him every time I use them. The farm house was filled with projects he helped me complete. I was reminded of him on a daily basis when I used the stair rails he and I built. Every time I worked on a door, or doorframe on the farm, I felt him at my side.

I had a porch swing in the basement on the farm. I couldn't throw it away, yet I could no longer put it on the front porch. When dad had his first big stroke and he was recovering from it with Joyce and me on the farm, dad and I would sit on the swing for long periods of time and rock back and forth without saying a word. Since then, I couldn't look at it without seeing him. When I think of him I feel the void in my life that can never be replaced.

This Christmas, I’ll be here in this apartment, with Joyce, grandma Mickey, mom and dad having passed away, Annie and Rhett and Hailey, Patrick and Krisy will be here and of course Dad's spirit. He’s always here at Christmas dinner. Bill