I find it hard to understand why
some people don’t like Christmas, or why some even go out of their way to
criticize or even attack it. I have wonderful memories of Christmas and for me
it is hard to imagine what life would have been like without Christmas. It is
true that most of these memories have been blurred together by the passage of
time—trimming the tree on Christmas eve, children around the tree opening
presents on Christmas day, and sitting down with the whole family for Christmas
dinner.
Some memories do stand out. Just a
couple of years ago I went to Victoria’s Secret to buy a pair of pajamas for my
wife only to be told that the sale price included two pairs of panties that I
would have to pick out. Going back further, I remember standing in a mall after
my first year as a struggling mutual fund and insurance salesman and calling my
office (there were no cell phones then) to see if my commission check would be
large enough to buy presents for my wife and five small children. It was.
Going back to my own childhood, I
remember my grandmother and grandfather making zeppoles and other Italian
pastries in their tiny kitchen. Never mind granite countertops, their old
kitchen had no countertops at all. The kitchen table and the stove top somehow
managed for the task of working the dough before dropping it into the boiling
oil to cook the delicious Christmas confections.
However, one memory stands out above all the
others. My wife and I had moved to Connecticut so that I could take a teaching
position in a small college in Fairfield. My first year's salary was about $6000. With the help of a down payment from my dad, we bought a small house
back in 1967 after the birth of our second child. Two years later on Christmas
eve both of our boys had an attack of asthmatic bronchitis. This had happened
before but our usual remedy of taking them into the bathroom, turning on the
hot water in the shower, and making the room into a steam room did not work
this time.
With reluctance we called our
pediatrician on the night before Christmas. He volunteered to come to the
house. House calls were not unusual in those days but it was Christmas eve and
he was a young man with a family of his own. Still, he came and stayed and
ministered to the boys for what seemed like hours. Finally, he recommended that
we take the youngest to the hospital. A wonderful neighbor volunteered to baby
sit for us and we drove to the hospital where my wife spent the evening with
little Edward.
Next day all was well and mother
and child returned home. We can never forget Dr. Cahill for what he did that
night. To top it all off, he refused to bill us precisely because it was
Christmas.
Happy 51st birthday to Ed and Merry Christmas to all.
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These are truly wonderful memories. God bless you father.
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