Uncle
Johnny Santa Claus
By: Kenda
Chapter 1
The Christmas of 2001 was not an easy one to be a father, or a firefighter. Nor was it an easy Christmas to be a boy of nine and a half. It was a Christmas when old traditions gave way to new traditions, that weren’t necessarily wanted or welcomed, when those new traditions first arrived.
As
mid-December came to Eagle Harbor, Alaska, John Gage wished he could turn the
calendar back one year. Trevor had
still believed in Santa Claus, meaning the magic of Christmas that is present
when one has a young child, could be found in abundance in Johnny’s home. The holiday season of 2000 had started early
for Johnny and Trevor, with the arrival for Thanksgiving of Roy and Joanne
DeSoto, Jennifer DeSoto Sheridan and her daughter Libby, and Dixie McCall. It had been a wonderful four days spent with
old friends who were, in every sense of the word, family. After Dixie and the DeSotos had returned to
Los Angeles, the month of December was heralded in with Clarice’s annual
Christmas cookie baking project and gingerbread house construction. Theses activities
took place in Johnny’s kitchen over the course of two weeks, with Trevor as
Clarice’s eager helper. After that,
came Eagle Harbor Elementary School’s holiday program, and then on Christmas
Eve, the pageant at the First United Methodist Church, where Trevor attended
Sunday services with Clarice. Trevor
had had parts in both these productions since the age of five. Stage fright was
foreign to Johnny’s son, and he could easily memorize any dialogue assigned to
him, meaning he was always in demand for a child’s speaking role.
Johnny
looked back upon all the Christmases he’d spent in Eagle Harbor with nothing
but fond memories. He’d arrived here in
May of 1993, when Trevor was one year old.
The traditions that had started that first holiday season were special
to Johnny and Trevor both. Thanks to
John Gage, the fire department initiated the Christmas Parade that took place
down Main Street the Friday evening after Thanksgiving. Then came the toy drive, clothing drive, and
food drive, also initiated by Johnny, for those families in and around Eagle
Harbor who were in need of assistance as Christmas approached. That Christmas of 1993 another tradition
started, as well. That tradition being
the arrival of Johnny’s father, stepmother, and sister, on December 23rd. John’s family stayed through New Year’s
Day. It was good for Trevor to have
Grandma Marietta and Aunt Reah in the house during that time. There was a
special something Johnny couldn’t quite name, that women added to the holiday. Maybe it was simply the maternal feeling that
was prevalent, or the way women organized the holiday from the food that was to
be served, to the time the gifts would be unwrapped. All Johnny knew was that Marietta’s and Reah’s presence never
felt like an intrusion, but rather, was welcome during that magical week of the
year. It was a time to reconnect with
family, and a time for Trevor to climb in Grandpa Chad’s lap for stories told
in front of the fireplace, and for bucking bronco ride’s on Grandpa’s ‘trick’
knee.
Although
Johnny didn’t realize the significance of it at the time, the first indication
that Christmas would be different this year came back in April. Johnny and Trevor had been taking a hike in
the woods behind their home that Saturday afternoon. It was one of the first days that spring, when winter began to
release her grip on Eagle Harbor. As
father and son carefully climbed a path slick with slushy snow, Trevor
announced matter-of-factly, “There isn’t a Santa Claus, Pops.”
Johnny
hadn’t turned around at that moment to look at his son, but instead, answered
with, “Oh there isn’t, huh? And just
who told you that?”
“No
one. I just know. Only little kids are dumb enough to believe
a fat man in a red suit travels around the whole world in one night in a flying
sleigh, and delivers presents to every single house by coming down the
chimney.”
Johnny
turned to face his son then. “You’re
sure about that?”
“Papa,
I’ll be nine next month. Of course, I’m
sure.”
And
because Trevor sounded so sure of himself, and because he was soon to be
nine and Johnny had been expecting the fantasy aspects of Christmas to fall by
the wayside sometime that year, the fire chief simply nodded his head in
confirmation. What Johnny didn’t see
when he turned back around to resume their hike, was the crest-fallen
expression on his son’s face as a result of that nod. Yes, in recent months Trevor had been pretty certain Santa Claus
was a myth, but still, it was hard to let go of something that had brought him
such joy for so many years.
A portion of Trevor’s
childhood died that afternoon, as happens to every boy and girl when the belief
in Santa Claus comes to an end. Johnny
silently mourned that death, then chastised himself for being a sentimental old
fool. If anyone had told John Gage when
he was twenty-five, that at fifty-five he’d be the father of a nine-year-old,
and fighting off the urge to shed a tear or two because his boy no longer
believed in Santa Claus, Johnny would have told that person he or she was nuts. But as he took Trevor’s hand that day as
they walked through the woods, Johnny did fight off the urge to shed a tear or
two over the fact that his boy, little by little, was growing up like all
children do.
Johnny wasn’t certain when
the holiday really started to unravel that year. He supposed, to some extent, the first foreshadowing of what was
to come had occurred that day in the woods when Trevor announced he knew Santa
Claus didn’t really exist. With the
arrival of the new school year at the end of August, came a series of upsets
and disappointments. The first upset
arrived on September 11th.
The tragedies that occurred that day in New York, Washington D.C., and
Pennsylvania, touched Trevor deeply. He
had never feared for Johnny’s safety before, but in the weeks since September
11th, Trevor often mentioned to Johnny that he wished he’d find a
new job, or that, “Papa, isn’t it time for you to retire?” Johnny’d had several discussions with his
son on this subject. Each time those
discussions took place he seemed to calm Trevor’s fears for the time being,
while emphasizing that no, he wasn’t going to get a new job, and that no, he
most certainly wasn’t old enough to retire.
Although it hardly seemed possible, Johnny knew that last statement
wasn’t true. His years in service to
various fire departments put him at a point where yes, he could retire with
full pension benefits. But, he was far
from ready for that. He loved his job
in Eagle Harbor, and he had every intention of putting Trevor through
college. Therefore, short of major
health problems coming his way, Johnny wasn’t considering retirement until
Trevor had earned his college degree.
The next upset came in
early November. Johnny and Trevor had
been planning that the DeSoto family would visit them once again over the
Thanksgiving holiday. But, then Roy
called to say it wasn’t possible for Joanne or Jennifer to get the weekend
off. Joanne worked as an assistant
manager at a bank, and Jennifer was a doctor in the emergency room at Rampart
General. Johnny was disappointed that
Roy had to cancel their plans, but he understood. Trevor was a different story, however.
“You mean they’re not
coming?” Trevor asked when Johnny broke
the news to him after school on the day Roy called.
“No, Trev. They’re not.”
“But why?”
“Because Aunt Joanne and
Jennifer have to work on the Friday and Saturday after Thanksgiving.”
“But they didn’t have to
work last year.”
“No, they didn’t. Which
means this year it’s someone else’s turn to have the holiday weekend off at the
bank, and at the hospital.”
“But when we were at Uncle
Roy’s in July they said they’d come.
They said they’d see us at Thanksgiving.”
“Trev, they said they’d try
to come. You heard Uncle Roy tell me
that it would depend on whether or not Aunt Joanne and Jennifer could get time
away from their jobs.”
“But—“
“Son, I’m sorry. But that’s just the way it is. We’ll have Thanksgiving with Carl and
Clarice like we used to.”
“But I wanted Libby to
come here. We were gonna ride in the
parade again, and we were gonnna go sledding, and you and Uncle Roy were gonna
take us to Juneau to see Harry Potter, like you took us to see The Grinch last
year, and—“
“I’ll still take you to
see Harry Potter.”
Trevor leaned back in his
seat in the Land Rover and crossed his arms over his chest. He dropped his head as his lower lip jutted
out. “It won’t be the same.”
“Why?” Johnny teased
lightly. “Because Libby’s better company than me?”
“It just won’t be the
same,” was all Trevor would say. “I
wanted it to be like last year. Exactly
like last year.”
“I know you did, Trev, and
so did I. But no matter how much we
want things to stay the same from year to year, there’s no guarantee that will
be the case.”
“So how come the good
things don’t stay the same, and the bad things don’t change?”
“What bad things?”
“I have to be a stupid elf
in the school holiday program again this year.
I’m always Eddie Elf. I’ve been Eddie Elf since kindergarten. I hate being Eddie Elf.”
“You’ve always liked being
Eddie Elf before. He has the most lines
in the entire play.”
“I’m nine now, Pops. A nine-year-old boy shouldn’t have to be an
elf. I wanna be Father Christmas.”
“I thought only an eighth
grade boy was picked to be Father Christmas.”
“Exactly. Which is why I’m stuck being Eddie Elf
again. Man, another year of stupid green tights. I hate those things. Tights are for girls. At least Father Christmas gets to wear his
gym shorts underneath his robe.”
As evidenced by Trevor’s
upset over the DeSotos’ canceled visit, and his role in the school’s program,
the trials and tribulations of that changing holiday season were both big and
small. One of Clarice’s sisters,
Josephine, fell on the ice outside the Wal-Mart in Juneau and broke her hip on
the weekend after Thanksgiving. That
meant during December Johnny’s housekeeper, and Trevor’s nanny, divided her
time between the Gage home and the home of her sister. Only half the number of Christmas cookies
got baked, and the gingerbread house, which this year Trevor had requested to
be designed like a fire station, didn’t get made at all. Again, Johnny didn’t anticipate the
magnitude of upset that would prevail over this alteration of Gage holiday
traditions, until he picked Trevor up from school on his day off, and they
settled at the kitchen table for an afternoon snack. Johnny had poured two glasses of milk and retrieved a handful of
the homemade cookies Clarice and Trevor had baked the week before. Johnny was surprised to see his son head for
the kitchen cabinet where the Oreos were kept.
“Trev, we’ve got an entire
container of Clarice’s cookies on the counter.
Pick out some of those for your snack.”
“No, I want Oreos.”
Johnny cocked an eyebrow
with surprise. “You’re turning down
homemade Christmas cookies in favor of Oreos?”
“Yep.”
“But why?” John asked, as Trevor carried his plate
containing four Oreo cookies to the table.
“ ‘Cause she didn’t make
my favorites.”
“Honey, there’s dozens of
different kinds of cookies in that container.”
“I know, but she forgot to
make my favorite, Papa. I like the
peanut butter ones best with the Hershey’s Kiss in the middle, and Clarice
forgot to make them. She’s too busy
taking care of Nana Josephine. She was
in a hurry and she forgot.”
“Well, I’m sure Clarice
will make them if you ask her to.”
Trevor’s eyes dropped to
his plate as he shoved his Oreos around with one finger. “It’s not the same when you have to
ask. If someone knows it’s your
favorite cookie, it’s just kinda nice if they know to make it for you without
being asked to.”
“Clarice has a lot on her
mind this year, kiddo. She didn’t
forget on purpose.”
“I know.”
“I’ll ask her for the
recipe. You and I can make the cookies
this Sunday when I’m off.”
“No, forget it. It won’t be the same.”
“Why not?”
“ ‘Cause it’s just
something that Clarice and I always did together. Same as making the gingerbread house we’re not making now ‘cause
she’s too busy. It was a tradition
that’s all over with.”
“Only over with for this
year, Trev. Next year things will be
like they were.”
“Maybe not. You said yourself that there’s no guarantee
things will stay the same from year to year.”
“Yes, but—“
“Forget it, Papa. It’s not important. At least Grandpa Chad, and Grandma Marietta,
and Aunt Reah, will be here.”
Johnny had smiled at his
son as he reached over to tousle the boy’s hair. “That’s right. Grandpa,
and Grandma, and Aunt Reah, will be here. We’ll have the tree cut down and ready to decorate when they
arrive, just like we’ve always done.
Then on Christmas Eve we’ll go to your program at the church—“
“There’s not gonna be a
program at the church.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s kinda of a
program, but more like with candles and prayer. A candlelight prayer service, Pastor Buchanan called it. He wants us to pray for the families who
lost people the day of the terrorist attacks, and he wants us to pray for the
soldiers in Afghanistan.”
While Johnny thought both
those things were good and noble endeavors, he also felt that the children who
attended the Methodist Church should be allowed to celebrate Christmas in the
way they were accustomed to, this year more than ever. But, it was just another tradition that had
been altered, and Johnny was determined to make the best of it for Trevor’s
sake.
“That’s okay. We’ll still go. And on Christmas Day, Grandpa and I will cook breakfast like we
always do, and then we’ll open presents.”
“But there won’t be any
presents from Santa Claus.”
“Oh, I don’t know about
that,” Johnny said as he bit the head off a gingerbread man. “You might be surprised. Old Santa still might make a visit this
year.”
“But it’s not the same now
that I know Santa Claus is you, Papa.”
And with that, Trevor
scooped up his cookies and retreated to his room. Johnny shook his head as he watched his son trudge up the stairs
with stooped shoulders. He wished he knew how to bring the magic of Christmas
back for a little boy who was, far too quickly, growing into a young man.
Chapter 2
It wasn’t just a
nine-and-half-year-old boy in Eagle Harbor, Alaska, who was having difficulty
finding the Christmas spirit that year, but as well, a fifty-eight year old man
in Los Angeles, California.
Christmas hadn’t been a
joyful holiday for Roy DeSoto since his grandson, Brandon, had died from cancer
at the age of six in April of 1998.
Brandon had been Jennifer’s youngest child. In looks, he’d taken after his Uncle Chris – a mop of pale blond
hair accented by big, sky-blue eyes. In
personality, Brandon had taken after his mother and his Uncle John - outgoing
and personable, the kind of child who had never met a stranger. He’d been Roy’s only grandson, and Roy’s
namesake in the sense that Brandon’s middle name had been Roy. Roy missed the child terribly, and had never
quite forgiven God for the devastating illness that had wreaked havoc on
Brandon’s small body.
Joanne was at work the day
in mid-December that Roy sat in their home office, or what used to be John’s
bedroom, looking through photo albums that contained pictures of Christmases gone
by. There was so much it hurt to
remember, yet it hurt just as much to forget.
There was the first two Christmases of Brandon’s life, when he was
healthy and strong. A chubby,
rosy-cheeked baby, and then an energetic toddler, tearing open packages to get
at the gifts inside. By the time
Brandon was three, Christmases when he was healthy and felt good were no longer
to be. His face was bloated from drugs
that third year of his life, and his fourth Christmas he wore a Santa hat to
hide the fact that chemotherapy had taken all his hair. The child who smiled at the camera during
his fifth Christmas celebration looked like a wise old man who knew his time on
earth would soon be over. The smile was
weary, as though celebrating Christmas now brought more effort than his little
body had to expend. Brandon never lived
to see a sixth Christmas. He’d given a
Christmas list to Roy just weeks before he died. Why Brandon had been thinking of Christmas in March, Roy never
knew, other than to say that later, he would come to realize that Brandon,
better than any of the rest of them, knew death would claim him before another
Christmas came to pass.
Roy crossed to his desk
drawer and dug the list out from where he kept it hidden under notebooks and paramedic
study guides. He’d never shown the list
to Joanne or Jennifer. Right after
Brandon died it would have upset them too much to see it, and now. . .well, now
three years had passed since the little boy’s death, and showing Joanne or
Jennifer a Christmas list printed by Brandon’s young hand would only bring the
pain of his passing into sharper focus.
Christmas was hard enough to get through without that.
Roy looked down at the
list that he’d helped Brandon with. The
boy had done all the printing with red and green crayons, but Roy had spelled
many of the words for him.
******
What I Want For Christmas by Brandon Roy Sheridan
A Mary Kate and
Ashley movie for my sister Libby
A Barbie Doll for my cousin Brittany
A Big Bird doll for my new baby cousin Madison
A Yankee Candle for my grandma.
A Christmas tree ornament for my Aunt
Wendy.
Charms for my mom
A Bruce Springsteen CD for my Uncle Chris
A snorkel fire truck for my Uncle John
Books for my Great Grandma DeSoto
A visit from Santa Claus for me and my grandpa.
******
A small
smile touched Roy’s lips as he read the list.
Each request had a story, or special thought, behind it. Joanne collected Yankee candles in every
scent available, just like Wendy collected Christmas tree ornaments. Roy’s mother loved to read, and had such a
wide range of interests when it came to the literature she favored that it was
easy to add to her library each year.
Jennifer had a charm bracelet Roy and Joanne had given to her as part of
her eighth grade graduation present. Every year on her birthday and Christmas
thereafter, Jennifer could always count on being given more charms to add to
the bracelet she treasured, and that in many ways, depicted parts of her life
through the charms that hung from it.
The
requests for Libby and Brittany summed up their Christmas desires three years
earlier, and to a large extent, still summed up their Christmas desires yet
today. Chris’s youngest daughter,
Madison, was just a week old when Brandon wrote out his list, but evidently he
somehow knew that Big Bird would, in fact, come to be her favorite Sesame
Street character as she grew. Or maybe
Brandon had chosen Big Bird for Madison, simply because that was his favorite
character.
Chris had
liked Bruce Springsteen’s music ever since he was in high school, so that
explained Brandon’s request for him.
And then the snorkel truck for John.
That was another painful memory for Roy.
From John
DeSoto’s first Christmas, through his fifth, John Gage had given him a piece of
Tonka Truck fire apparatus. A paramedic
squad the Christmas of 1979, a hook and ladder truck the Christmas of 1980, a
foam truck in ‘81, a pumper truck in ’82, a battalion chief’s station wagon in
’83, and then in 1984 a heavy rescue truck.
It was the snorkel truck that John had requested from his Uncle Johnny
for the Christmas of 1985, but by the time that Christmas came, John Gage was
no longer living in Los Angeles. Roy
felt he had only himself to blame for that, and the estrangement that would
exist between himself and Johnny for the next fifteen years. However, Johnny had assured him many times
since the rebirth of their friendship in July of 2000, that he had achieved
great personal fulfillment as a result of all he’d experienced since leaving
L.A. in 1985. In many ways, Roy
supposed Johnny was correct when he said that he wouldn’t be the fire and
paramedic chief of Eagle Harbor, Alaska, or have his son Trevor, if it hadn’t
been for the events that prompted him to leave Los Angeles and start anew in
Denver. Nonetheless, Roy knew Johnny
had experienced some personal hardships during those years that might not have
been so difficult on him had their friendship been intact.
Though
Brandon never knew John Gage, Roy’s children had told the little boy enough
about Johnny for Brandon to understand the essence of his spirit. Roy had pointed to the request for John that
day and questioned, “Don’t you think Uncle John’s a little old for a snorkel
truck, Branny?”
“Nope,”
Brandon shook his head. “That’s what he
was supposed to get from Uncle Johnny a long time ago when he was a little boy
about my age. That’s what Uncle John
told me last Christmas he wanted more than anything, Grandpa. The snorkel truck for his collection.”
“Oh, I
see,” was all Roy had said then, not even aware until that moment that Brandon
knew of John Gage.
“Uncle
John said Uncle Johnny used to come to the house dressed as Santa Claus, and
that he always pretended he didn’t know it was really Uncle Johnny underneath
the Santa suit.”
Though Roy
had been in no mood to relive memories of John Gage at that time, he couldn’t
help but smile at his grandson’s words.
Jennifer had been four, and Chris seven, the year Joanne sewed a Santa
Suit and asked Johnny to wear it while delivering a bag full of presents to the
kids on Christmas Eve. Even with the
padding Joanne had sewn in the costume, Johnny was an awfully scrawny Santa as
far as Roy was concerned, but the kids had been thrilled and had been all over
‘Santa Claus’ from the first, “Ho, ho, ho,” called from outside the patio
doors. It wasn’t until the kids were
getting ready for bed that night that Roy heard Jennifer say softly to
Chris, “Santa Claus was really Uncle
Johnny, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah,”
Chris had said. “But don’t tell Mom and Dad, ‘cause they thought it was a neat
surprise. And don’t tell Uncle Johnny,
‘cause it’ll hurt his feelings.”
“I won’t,”
Jennifer promised. “It’s okay if Uncle
Johnny wants to pretend to be Santa Claus.
It was fun digging in his bag for presents, and I like the way he said,
“Ho, ho, ho,” like he had a sore throat.
Besides, the real Santa will come tonight and fill our stockings and leave
my Baby Secret doll, ‘cause that’s what Mommy helped me write on my list.”
Chris
nodded his agreement, which caused Roy to breathe an internal sigh of
relief. Though the kids had figured out
the Santa who visited them was really Johnny, he was glad their faith in the
existence of Santa Claus allowed their imaginations to reconcile Johnny’s
visit, to the upcoming visit of the ‘real’ Santa Claus.
By the
time John DeSoto was born, the belief in Santa Claus was a thing of the past
for thirteen-year-old Chris and ten-year-old Jennifer. Joanne asked Johnny to pull that Santa suit
out of his closet again for John’s first Christmas. Johnny happily did so, and resurrected the hoarse, “Ho, ho, ho,”
Jennifer well remembered. John’s belief
that Johnny was the ‘real’ Santa Claus lasted until he was three. That Christmas he figured out who the man
was under the fake white beard, but like his brother and sister before him,
didn’t reveal to the adults what he knew.
It was only later, when Joanne heard John tell one of his playmates
that, “We have two Santa Clauses who come to our house. First there’s Uncle Johnny Santa Claus, and
then there’s the real Santa Claus. I
love my Uncle Johnny Santa Claus ‘cause he brings me fire trucks.”
Though
Joanne had shared what she’d overheard with Roy, just like years earlier Roy
had shared with Joanne what he had overheard Jennifer and Chris say, neither of
them ever told Johnny the kids knew who the person was behind that Santa
suit. Each Christmas until Johnny was
gone from Los Angeles, Joanne would say to Roy, “Tell Uncle Johnny Santa Claus
to get his suit ready for another year,” and then they’d exchange a smile over
John’s phrasing, and over the secret they kept from Johnny, who was almost more
excited than the kids each year he put that Santa suit on.
As Roy read his grandson’s last request,
sorrow filled his heart. Jennifer had promised Brandon a visit from Santa Claus
in the weeks prior to his last Christmas.
She had made arrangements with a man who played St. Nick each Christmas,
to visit Roy and Joanne’s house on Christmas Eve. Despite how ill he was feeling, Brandon had spent the night
kneeling on the couch, keeping watch out the window for Santa’s arrival. By nine o’clock the man was an hour and half
late. Jennifer had called his home
three times, but had gotten no answer.
By ten o’clock they all knew Santa wasn’t coming, including
Brandon. He’d tried hard not to cry as
Roy put him to bed in Chris’s old room.
“Santa
will come tonight after you’re asleep, Brandon,” Roy had assured as he sat on
the boy’s mattress.
“I
know. But it’s not the same as seeing
Santa Claus for yourself, Grandpa.
Uncle Chris, and Uncle John, and my mom all got to see Santa Claus when
they were kids, my mom told me so.”
Brandon
was right. His mother and uncles had
seen Santa Claus when they were kids.
And that Christmas Eve night of 1997, Roy was reminded once again of how
he’d always been able to rely on ‘Uncle Johnny Santa Claus’ and how, if Johnny
was still living in Los Angeles, Brandon’s wish to get a visit from Santa would
have transpired. But Roy had been out
of contact with Johnny for twelve years at that time, and had no idea where the
man was living. It was just another
sorrow for Roy to feel when he thought of Brandon. A visit from ‘Uncle Johnny Santa Claus,’ would have been so easy
to arrange had Roy not made it clear to John Gage after Chris’s injury, that he
had no longer had a place in the DeSotos’ lives.
Roy sighed
and refolded Brandon’s Christmas list.
He returned it to its hiding place and shut the desk drawer, before
sitting down on the daybed once again.
There was so much that was water under the bridge now, and there was
little use in attempting to right the wrongs of Christmases past. Holiday movies like Scrooge allowed
you to believe that were possible, but when the movie ended, reality made you
know different. No ghosts from
Christmas Past were going to visit Roy that year and allow him to fix mistakes
he’d made, nor allow him the power to heal Brandon and bring him to life
again. Roy knew much of his affection
for Trevor Gage came, not only because Trevor was Johnny’s son, but because
Trevor was the age Brandon would be now if he were living. And like Brandon, Trevor was outgoing and
personable. Rather than those factors
making it difficult for Roy to be around Trevor, just the opposite had
occurred. He was drawn to the boy, and
admittedly, spoiled him like one would a favored grandson.
Just like
Christmas traditions in Eagle Harbor had been altered due to change, Christmas
traditions at Roy’s house were being altered.
For years after the DeSoto children had been gone from home, it was a
tradition for all of them to return on Christmas Eve with their spouses and
children. Everyone spent the night, and
then on Christmas morning, the grandchildren ran for the stockings hanging from
Grandpa’s mantel. After the contents of
those stockings had been dumped on the floor and thoroughly inspected, the
children scrambled for the tree to see what else Santa Claus had left. Admittedly, Joanne and Roy’s house was
bursting at the seams those two days, but they loved every minute of the
activity. As parents, Roy and Joanne knew they’d done right by their children
during their growing up years, since those same children were eager return to
home with their own children. This
tradition had carried on after Brandon’s death, even though that Christmas of
1998 had been difficult for all of them. Not only was Brandon missing from the
festivities, but so was his father, Dan Sheridan. Jennifer and Dan were separated that Christmas, and divorced
shortly after the new year. Despite those two empty places at the Christmas
table, Roy and Joanne could always count on Jennifer and Libby, Chris, Wendy,
and their two daughters, and John, being present to carry on the family
traditions. But this year, a year when
Americans were staying home in record numbers for the holiday and gathering
their loved ones close, Roy’s loved ones were scattering. Joanne had to work until noon on Christmas
Eve, Jennifer had to work both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Chris, Wendy, and their girls would be in
Santa Barbara on Christmas Day, at the home of Wendy’s parents, and John wasn’t
coming home at all until the weekend of his twenty-third birthday in
mid-January. The youngest DeSoto was a
forest ranger at Yellowstone Park in Wyoming, and engaged to be married in June
of 2002 to a fellow ranger, Shawna McNeil.
John was working Christmas Eve, and would spend Christmas Day with
Shawna’s family in Wyoming. The kids
had apologized for their various obligations this year, and Roy could do little
else but accept those apologies. After
all his years in the fire department, he understood and accepted that Jennifer
and John had jobs that required holiday employment. Ironically enough, even Joanne now had a job that required
holiday employment to a certain extent, which greatly altered how Roy had once
pictured their lives would be, as they both broached sixty years old.
Somehow,
though, in years past, the kids had done whatever switching around they could
of their work schedules in order to keep the tradition alive that Roy held dear
– the tradition of having his children and grandchildren in his home on
Christmas morning. This year would be
different, however. Christmas would be
lonely with just Joanne, Roy, Libby, and Roy’s mother, at the house. Libby was eleven and no longer believed in
Santa Claus, so with Chris’s girls absent, even that magical part of Christmas
was not to be. Roy sighed and leaned
against the cushions on the daybed with the closed photo album in his
hands. Christmas was eleven days away,
and rather than looking forward to its arrival, Roy just wished it were over
with.
___________________
When
Joanne arrived home at six-thirty that Friday evening, Roy’s Porsche was in the
driveway, as she’d expected it to be.
He’d finished his most recent term as paramedic instructor the previous
day, and didn’t have a new class of students scheduled to start until January
14th.
Joanne
studied the front of the house with puzzlement as she got out of her car. The interior of her home was dark. Roy hadn’t plugged in the lights on the
Christmas tree that stood in front of the big picture window in the living
room, nor had he flipped the switch that would turn on the icicle lights that
were strung from the eaves.
I
wonder if he took a walk?
Walking
was Roy’s chosen form of exercise now that he’d grown older, but he usually
took his daily walk after supper.
The woman
walked into the garage past their Dodge mini-van, and used her key to enter
through the door that led into the laundry room. She couldn’t smell supper cooking in the oven, which was again,
unusual. Since she’d started working
full-time when John went to college, Roy handled many of the household duties
that had, for years, been Joanne’s. He
was, for the most part, semi-retired now.
Joanne
flipped on the kitchen light and set her purse on the counter. She looked past
the dining area and down the hall that held the bedrooms. She could see a light shining from the
office.
“Roy?”
Joanne
slipped off her black pumps. She picked
them up and carried them in her right hand as she walked down the hall.
“Roy?”
The woman
entered the room to see her husband sitting on the daybed holding a photo
album.
“Roy?”
Roy looked
up, his expression revealing that he’d been unaware Joanne had arrived home.
“How long
have you been home?”
“About
five minutes. Didn’t you hear me
calling you?”
“Guess
not.”
The man
moved over, making room for his wife.
Joanne sat sideways on the bed. She set her shoes on the floor and
curled up on one hip, leaning into her husband’s side.
“So you’re
taking me out to supper tonight?”
“What?”
“Supper? Since there’s nothing cooking, I assume
you’re taking me out.”
“Oh...oh,
sure. We can go out.”
Joanne rested
her head on Roy’s shoulder while placing a hand on the photo album resting in
his lap.
“What were
you looking at?”
“Just...pictures.” Roy gave his wife a weak smile. “Just some old pictures.”
Joanne
didn’t press her husband for details. She knew he’d been looking at pictures of
Brandon. Every year at this time, he
pulled out this particular photo album that contained pictures going as far
back as 1966, when they celebrated Chris’s first Christmas, and extending as
far forward with holiday photographs as last Christmas.
“Roy,
don’t do this to yourself year after year.”
“What? Remember Brandon? Are you asking me not to remember Brandon?”
“No. I’m
just. . .” Joanne let her sentence
trail off. After all, what could she say? “I’m asking you not to grieve for
Brandon.” or, “I’m asking you not to bring your heavy heart to the Christmas
festivities year after year because you miss the grandson you loved so much.”
Of course
she couldn’t make those requests.
Joanne grieved for Brandon, too, and yes, Christmas was often difficult
to get through now that he was gone.
There were times when memories of the little boy made Joanne smile. Like when she came across the ornaments he
and Libby had made for her one year out of construction paper and glitter. They’d used so much Elmer’s Glue that you
could still smell it on the paper angels, reindeer, and candy canes. At other times, memories of Brandon made
tears well up in her eyes and run silently down her cheeks. Like when she pulled out the gold ornament
shaped like a little boy’s head that had his name and birthdate engraved on
it. Ornaments in the shape of little
girls represented each of her granddaughters, as well. Joanne would never
consider not hanging Brandon’s ornament on the tree, even though that act was a
painful reminder of the child who would never grow beyond six-years-old in the
memories of his family, and who would, forever more, be with them at Christmas
in spirit only.
“You’re
just what?” Roy asked, bringing Joanne
out of her private thoughts.
“Nothing.” The woman leaned forward and kissed her
husband’s cheek. “Nothing. Never mind.
It wasn’t important.”
Silence
lingered in the room several minutes before Roy finally broke it.
“Christmas
will be quiet this year with just my mother, Libby, you, and me here.”
“Yes, it
will be.”
“And what
are we going to do Christmas Eve?”
“What do
you mean?”
“John
won’t be here at all. Chris, Wendy, and the girls will be here on Christmas Eve
afternoon. Jennifer won’t be here until after six on Christmas Day – if she
doesn’t get hung up at the hospital and have to work even later, so I was just
wondering how we were going to hold our family gathering.”
“I guess
in bits and pieces,” Joanne said. “Chris
and Wendy will only be here long enough to have a quick bite to eat and open
gifts. I was thinking I’d make lasagna,
garlic bread, and toss a salad. There’s really no use in planning a drawn-out
meal. They want to be on the road,
headed for Santa Barbara, by seven.
We’ll have sandwiches and left over lasagna at noon on Christmas Day,
and then have our big meal when Jennifer arrives after work in the evening.”
“When are
we going to open gifts?”
“Same way
we’re doing everything else - in shifts, depending on who’s here. Did you mail
the packages today for John and Shawna?”
“Yes.”
“And the
box I had ready for Johnny and Trevor, too?”
“Yes.”
“Thank
you.”
“You
should thank me,” Roy smiled. “The post
office was a zoo.”
“I’m sure
it was. I wish we could see Trevor’s
face when he opens his Hogwarts Castle.”
“Me, too,” Roy
acknowledged of the gift they’d gotten Trevor.
In the popular Harry Potter books, of which Trevor was a huge fan,
Hogwarts was the boarding school for young wizards that Harry Potter and his
friends attended. “Oh, and I sent a separate box to Johnny for Trevor.”
“A separate box?”
“Yeah. I was...wandering
around Wal-Mart this morning and saw some Harry Potter action figures. I
thought he’d like those for his castle.
A clerk wrapped them for me, and then I bought a box at the post
office.”
“Exactly how many figures
did you buy?”
“Every one they had.”
“And how many was that?”
Roy gave a sheepish
gin. “Fourteen.”
Joanne laughed. “Johnny’s going to accuse you of spoiling
Trevor.”
“I’m sure he will, but
that’s okay. It’s not like he didn’t
spoil our kids when they were little by giving them more gifts than they needed
for Christmas.”
“That’s true,” the woman
agreed.
“Oh, and speaking of
spoiling kids, a box arrived today from Johnny that’s filled with presents for
all of us. I emptied it and put
everything under the tree. Even the
packages that are for John and Shawna.
They can open them when they come for John’s birthday in January.”
Joanne nodded her agreement before shifting the subject back to
what they’d been discussing. “Do my
plans for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day sound all right to you?”
“What choice do I have?”
“Pardon?” The woman’s tone
made Roy realize she’d taken offense at his answer. As though he didn’t approve of the way she’d structured their
holiday.
“Yes, yes. What you have planned sounds fine.”
“Then what did you mean
by, ‘What choice do I have?’”
“I meant. . .well, I meant
that I’m disappointed the kids won’t be here together, all three of them and
their families, at least one of the two days.
I know it’s getting to be too much to ask that they’re all here on
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, as we’ve done in the past. Between their jobs, and the distance John
now lives from us, I realize our family traditions are changing. I’d just like to keep one day for all of us,
you know? I’d just like one day when I
can count on Chris, Wendy, Jennifer, John, Shawna, and our three
granddaughters, all being here with us. This year it’s more important to me
than ever given recent events.”
Joanne nodded. She
understood what her husband meant. When catastrophic events happen you realize
how important family is. You realize that, no matter what might be taken from
you, your family is the one thing you can’t replace, and is the one thing you’d
fight to defend. The house, the
clothes, the cars. . .those things were expendable. But your children and grandchildren aren’t, and they were the
things that this Christmas of 2001, you wanted to hold close.
Roy took his wife’s hand
and squeezed. “Sometimes I feel so damn
old.”
“What?” The woman was
shocked by her husband’s remark.
“Our oldest granddaughter
is eleven, Joanne. She’s not a little
girl anymore, and one of these days I’m going to turn around and she’ll be
graduating from high school. It just doesn’t seem possible that eleven years
have passed since she was the baby I used to rock in my chair in our living room. All too soon, Libby, and then Brittany and
Madison, will be grown. Traditions
change quickly enough as kids get older.
I just...for a few years yet I’d just like things to stay the same. I’d like Christmas to be what it once was.”
“Roy, wishing for that
won’t bring Brandon back.”
“I know. But...”
“But what?”
Roy simply shook his
head. Because Joanne didn’t know about
Brandon’s Christmas list, Roy couldn’t say what he wanted to.
But I’d like to turn back the clock and give Branny
the one thing he asked for. A visit
from Santa Claus. Now I’ll never be able to do that, and now our kids are
scattering hither and yon this Christmas, meaning the traditions we kept when
Brandon was living have come to an end. These changes make Brandon’s memory grow
even more distant, and I can’t voice how much that hurts.
Roy stood and put
the photo album back where it belonged.
He left the room without saying anything more to his wife. Joanne sighed, as she stood as well. Unfortunately, no matter how much Roy wished
it to be, you couldn’t bottle up past Christmases and carry them into the
future. A growing family meant change.
When John and Shawna married they would make their home in Wyoming,
meaning any children they had would be raised there. And Roy was right when he said Libby was eleven, and no longer a
little girl. But Joanne couldn’t stop
these changes that were a natural part of life, anymore than Roy could. The good thing about traditions is that they
brought comfort. The bad thing about
traditions, is that when they were broken, the changes that came with that were
often hard to accept.
Christmas has been so difficult for Roy since Brandon’s death. I wish I knew of a way to keep our traditions the same for him this year, but I don’t. He’s just going to have to accept that new traditions are taking the place of old ones. What else can either of us do?
Joanne picked up her
shoes and went in search of her husband. There was no use lamenting over
Christmases past. Besides, she was hungry,
and Mr. DeSoto owed her a dinner out.
Chapter 3
It was Wednesday
afternoon of the following week when the phone rang at the DeSoto house. Joanne had the day off work, and was in the
kitchen getting ingredients out for the Christmas cookies her granddaughters
were helping her bake after school. She
reached for the portable phone on the counter.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jo.”
“Johnny! Hi. How are you?”
“Fine,” John Gage
replied from his office at the Eagle Harbor Fire Station. “I just got back from
the post office. I called to thank you
guys for the gifts you sent. What’d you
do? Buy Trevor half a toy store?”
“That was Roy’s doing,”
Joanne smiled. “You can thank him for spoiling your son, not me.”
“I’ll be sure to do
that. Is he home?”
“No. He went to pick up Libby and Brittany from
school, then was going to swing by Chris’s house for Madison. The girls are helping me bake Christmas
cookies this afternoon.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Sounds more like a mess to
me,” Joanne chuckled, “but it’s a tradition.”
“Ah, the magic word this
Christmas.”
“What? Tradition?”