231223 A Christmas Long Ago

‘Christmas With Dad 1987’

Christmas is a unique holiday. It evokes unparalleled joy and often sadness. I remember the wonders of the day as a child. 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.

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 those in need throughout the year, but only at Christmas was his generosity obvious to all. I wish it were possible to know just how much and to how many he gave in his lifetime.

Dad was no saint. He was very authoritarian. He was often 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 slip away there are fewer of the people who made the memories left to share those memories with.

This picture was taken on Christmas of 1987.

Dad had learned it was okay to show some affection. Dad passed away some 28 or so years ago. The hand tools he gave are a reminder of him every time I use them.

After dad had his stroke and he was recovering from it, we would sit together for long periods of time without saying a word. I look at the picture and I’m seeing him in better times. When I see the picture, I feel a void in my life that can never be replaced.

So this Christmas, I’ll be here in this apartment, perhaps with Annie and Rhett and of course Dad. He’s always on my mind at Christmas.