The Day After Christmas

The day after Christmas, for a number of years from when I was 11 or so until I was 16, my father had to go to a business conference out of town. One of his colleagues would pick him up the morning of the 26th and off he would go. Then the fun began.

My mom would make pancakes in different shapes while my brother and I and my sister set the table or played with our presents. And we made noise.

For four days, we ran around the house, laughing, yelling, singing, chasing each other, and having fun. We got to have our friends over. My mom joined us in chasing games or went across the street to her friend Helen's house, and had coffee and stayed as long as she wanted or until we missed her and ran to get her. The beds didn't get made and we didn't worry about messes. At night, sometimes, we all piled into the big double bed and tickled each other and then slept long and deeply.

In the mornings, sometimes we had candy for breakfast. My mom laughed a lot.

Before my dad came home, we cleaned the house and put our toys away.

Years later, just a few years ago, actually, I was talking with him about this and that and the holidays, and I mentioned the conferences he went to the day after Christmas. He was astonished. "How the heck do you remember that?" "I guess, Dad, I guess I have a good memory," I said. What else could I say?

Looking back, I feel sad for him that noise and family life bothered him so much. I am sorry he couldn't take part in the joy we had with each other. I am sorry he needed so much order.

As for me, all these years later, fifty or more, I still find that I feel calm and happy, no matter what else is going on, when I wake up on December 26th.