White Christmas


Heated by oil, our two-level row house was always warmer upstairs than downstairs. Dad showed me how to drain the water from out of the radiators, so they would get as hot as possible for winter. When I was a young boy I remember waking up on Christmas Day, it was always a special treat for me. I shouldn’t really call it “waking up,” it was more like waiting for water to boil; you know it is going to happen eventually but not right at that moment. Tossing and turning all night trying to fall asleep, but to no avail, my mind pondered about all of the surprises that were waiting patiently under the seven foot, green plastic tree. There are big ones, small ones, light ones, dark ones, and heavy ones, all nestled safely under the warm glow of rainbow lights that decorate the color coded branches.
During Christmas time the entire atmosphere of the city changes, people are a little nicer, hellos and goodbyes begin and end with “Merry Christmas.” Even the neighborhood grumpy old men cannot bear the over-bearing sense of joy in the air. I know the real reason they are being nice, they just want someone to shovel the three inch deep snowy sidewalk.