Clay's Blog

• MERRY CHRISTMAS

  12/24/07 13 Comments
  

  MY CHRISTMAS STORY (and, yes, it is a TRUE story.)

  Christmas is a time for families to be together, even if they live hundreds of miles apart, and each family has its own traditions as every married couple quickly discovers. My husband’s family lived in another town in Missouri – a three hour drive for us. And they absolutely knew the best time to celebrate Christmas was December 24th with a big dinner that afternoon and then the opening of all the presents on Christmas Eve. All family members were required to be there. My family, on the other hand, who lived in our home town, knew that Christmas morning was the correct time to celebrate the season, so that all of Santa’s presents would be miraculously on hand. And all members of the family were required to be there.

  So, like the obedient son and daughter, my husband and I were, we attempted to please everyone. Early in the morning of each December 24th we packed up our two kids, a load of presents for seven relatives, and of course, the dog……a very even tempered, though rather large, German Shepherd named Frieda, and drove the three hours from the Lake of the Ozarks to Kansas City in order to spend the day and evening with DH’s family. Then around nine or ten p.m. we repacked presents from seven people to the four of us, and tossed Frieda and the sleeping kids into the back of the station wagon, where they nestled quite comfortably on the foam rubber mattress in the back, (anyone else remember those?) and began the three hour drive home. If you’re not old enough to remember these wonderful inventions, station wagons were smaller than a minivan, but larger than a SUV, although without the four-wheel drive and the prestige.

  Usually this drive passed relatively quickly, flushed as we were with family conviviality, Christmas turkey, and new and unusual presents, not to mention a tiny bit of Christmas Cheer. However, this particular year the weather Geni decided to grant the wishes, not of obedient, traveling sons and daughters, but those of frivolous stay-at-home children pleading for a White Christmas. A blizzard was gathering force as we left Kansas City heading south.

  The return trip was taking far longer than the usual three hours, and one of the main reasons for this was because DH always took the rural Missouri, back country roads home, instead of Interstate 70. This was because he had personally checked the mileage both ways…. and hell would freeze over ( and it almost did that night) before he would waste an ounce of gas driving extra miles. Nevermind the fact that Interstate 70 would be under constant maintenance by numerous snow plows, even though it was midnight on Christmas Eve.

  So…. when we were about three-fourths of the way home and down to twenty miles per hour on that path that was less traveled…. but needless-to-say….an unplowed, curvy, hilly, two lane road…..the fury of the storm intensified to near Antarctic conditions…..and since the windshield wipers could barely remove the snow fast enough (not to mention the ice buildup that the defroster wasn’t able to manage) visibility was down to a few feet, and we barely missed a car stalled at the side of the road.

  DH swerved and skidded the bulky station wagon to a stop. I heaved a sigh of relief when I realized we were still on the pavement and not sliding off the shoulder and sledding down one of the scenic Ozark Hills. But said sigh immediately turned into a gulp as I realized he was shifting into reverse and slowly backing up to the stalled car. I stared at DH with a look that said, “Are you out of your mind, picking up a hitchhiker in this storm? We’ll disappear from the face of the earth and no one will ever even find our bones?”
  

  About this time a man’s ungloved hand rapped on my passenger’s side window. Well, whatcha gonna do??? I rolled down the window. The snow frosting the man’s uncovered head told the story of his long wait for another car to come down this lonely road so late at night on Christmas Eve. In a few words he told us that his car had run out of gas, but they only needed to go a short distance to the next town, if we could just take him and his family there to their relatives.
  

  “Sure, get in” I heard coming from the generous man sitting beside me. I gritted my teeth, which I tried to turn into a smile. Then I saw his pregnant wife exiting the car, holding a sleeping youngster. Another child climbed over the front seat and they all quickly ensconced themselves between the multitudes of presents in our back seat.

  Of course, this woke up my children and Frieda on the mattress at the rear. The four sleepy children stared at each other over the back seat and Frieda’s smile was somehow similar to mine, I think….which could have been misconstrued by some, but not this desperate family. They all settled in and seemed to relax in the warmth of the car.

  Not a word was said as we drove the few miles to their intended destination. Perhaps they were as uneasy about getting into a stranger’s car and I had been about inviting them. But it wasn’t long before we came to another of the small towns that dotted this infrequently traveled road, and the man pointed out a small, brightly lit home, obviously waiting at that late hour for their Christmas relatives. As we pulled into the drive, an elderly face appeared at the window and the door immediately opened. The stranded family piled out of the back seat and hurried inside.

  This family man, of so few words, paused as he held the open back door, obviously searching for just the right ones to say. Then he stuck his head back inside the car and I heard a soft, choked, “God bless you,” as he quickly closed the door and turned to follow his family inside the welcoming house.

  Yes, Christmas is a time for families to be together, regardless of the day or the date…and I’ll always remember the blessings given and received on that snowy night by those who believed in the Spirit of Christmas.

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