'Twas the Night Before Christmas

"'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house..."
"I know, I know."  I said.  "Is there any way we could make this any more interesting, Dad?"
"Why?" he answered. "It's a classic!"
"Yeah," I sighed, "but it gets boring hearing it year after year.  Can't we spice it up at all?  Maybe make it an action movie style?"
Dad just looked at me strangely.  Of course he wouldn't understand.  He'd already been desensitized to the poem.  It was about time someone told this story a different way to help all the suffering kids in the world who grow up listening to the same poem told the same way year after year.  Here's what I was picturing.

So there I was, lying quietly in my bed.  It was Christmas eve.  The only noise came from the winter wind gusting outside my well-sealed window.  The decorations were up.  I pictured my red and green striped stocking perfectly hanging from the edge of the fireplace.  Being the kid I was, I had my fingers crossed hoping that Santa Claus would come and fill the entire living room with presents only for me.  I was an only child, and would've gotten spoiled anyway, but Santa gave me an excuse to ask for it.
Mom and Dad had tucked me into bed earlier that evening.  When they left they told me to dream about "sugar-plums."  I had no idea what those were, so I was thinking about M&M's and Skittles instead.  Despite all my best efforts, though, I couldn't fall asleep.  My Superman pajamas seemed to make it itchy everywhere.  Now that I look back, it could've simply been the anticipation.  Not too long after being tucked in, I knew my parents were asleep, judging by the steady stream of snoring coming from down the hall.  I just shook my head and rolled over.
Suddenly, I heard a huge noise from outside.  It wasn't just the thump of a large bit of snow falling off the roof.  It sounded like a cross between a Christmas song on the radio and a car crash.  Despite the cold, I jumped out of bed and ran to the window.  I was halfway there when I remembered to put my slippers on.  I rushed back to the bed, threw my feet into the soft tigers, and ran to the window.  Even though they know I hate it when my curtains are closed, my parents had closed them again tonight.  I struggled with them for a while before throwing them open.
The moon was shining brightly on the yard.  It was so bright it almost looked like day time.  I looked up at it and noticed it was almost full.  "That's weird," I thought, "the moon was only a small sliver yesterday."  I shrugged and returned my attention to the front lawn.  My eyes immediately grew to the size of my aunt's molasses cookies (and let me tell you, they're huge!).  There was Santa's sleigh!  I counted the eight reindeer, just to make sure.  It, he, was real!  It was sitting right on my front lawn!  I could barely hold my excitement.  I almost let out a high-pitched screech.  Fortunately, I was able to contain myself and content myself with shaking with happiness.
A small person hopped out of the driver's seat and began moving around the sleigh and the reindeer.  I didn't have to look twice to guess who that was.  It was Santa Claus!  He was talking and calming the reindeer.  He let out a shrill whistle and, through some trick of the acoustics, I was able to hear every word he said.  He called out to each of the reindeer by name.
Santa stepped back onto the sleigh and into the driver's seat and called out.  "Alright, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen!" (I, being a big fan, was able to say each name along with the old man.) "Put your backs into it, lads!  We've got to get to the top of this here house!  Pull!  Dash away!"  I was mesmerized by Santa's enthusiasm.  He was never like this at the mall.  He always seemed slow and careful.  I wouldn't blame him.  The guy looked old enough to be my dad's grandfather!
To my surprise, the reindeer, straining against the reins, dashed forward, and before they hit the angry neighbor's fence, leaped into the air.  Now my mouth joined my eyes in mimicking my aunt's molasses cookies.  They circled around a couple of times.  I guess they were trying to find a good place to land.  Finally, on the third time around, they landed on the roof, spraying snow everywhere.  I didn't wait to figure out if Santa had made it safely to the roof.  I ran downstairs to watch him come down the chimney.
Each step I made down the stairs was repeated on the roof by the reindeer's hooves.  Each time my foot hit one stair with a muted thud, a reindeer's hoof would clack on the roof with a slight jingle of bells.  When I reached the bottom, the noises on the roof stopped, and my dad's snoring regained it's dominance in sound for a bit.  Then, a solid thud resounded on the roof.  Then, similar thuds echoed as someone moved towards the chimney.  I quickly looked around for a place to hide.  I didn't want Santa to see me up this late.  Finally, I decided to hide under the dining room table, across the room from the tree and fireplace.  The footsteps finally reached the chimney, and Santa Claus slipped down the chimney with a grating noise and plenty of grunting.  I guess they don't make chimneys as big as they used to.
Then, suddenly, Santa Claus was standing in the fireplace.  I knew it was him immediately.  He was wearing his classic red and white outfit, though it had soot and ash smudges all over the place.  I obviously wasn't his first stop.  That was fine with me, as long as he left a bunch of presents for me!  My eyes turned to his bag of goodies on his back.  I was almost drooling with anticipation.  When he set down his bag and began to look through it, he reminded me of one of those street vendors who carry their stores on their backs.  I almost laughed he looked so funny.
When he resurfaced from looking through his bag, I got a good look at his face.  His dark eyes were shining and twinkling with the Christmas tree lights.  He had a big smile on his face and his cheeks were bright red.  I guessed it must be cold flying around in the middle of winter.  Now I was glad that I had convinced my mom to leave hot chocolate instead of milk for Santa.  I guessed he'd probably appreciate it more.  If his cheeks were red with cold, his nose was bright red.  It looked like one of those cherries that you put on the top of an ice cream sundae.  His huge white beard reached down to the middle of his chest.
He had a piece of wood sticking out of his mouth.  I had no idea why, but there was smoke coming from it.  I guessed it was something like a cigarette, but more old-fashioned.  In any case, the smoke seemed to be contained.  After leaving the pipe, it circled around his head like the green circle thing we hung on our door during Christmas.  He was even fatter than I had imagined him.  He chuckled as he moved around.  His humungous belly bounced like a big water balloon every time he moved or laughed.  I almost burst out laughing myself again, but forced myself to hold it in.
Every time his huge belly bounced, I tried to hold my laughter in, but that didn't last long.  I finally let out a huge laugh that I was sure was going to wake up my dad and get me coal in my stocking.  He turned and looked right at me.  Then he picked up a cookie from the table and winked at me.  I understood that there was nothing to be afraid of.  I carefully crawled out from under the table and walked back toward the staircase.  I turned around wand watched the old man get to work.
He never said anything to me, but immediately began to bustle around the room.  He downed the hot chocolate and the other two cookies with gusto and a big belch before turning to the stockings.  In a flash, he had filled all three stockings to bursting with candies and small toys.  Then, he got to my favorite part: the presents.  One after another he pulled them out from the bag and put them under the tree in an organized mess.  Some were huge packages and others were smaller than my hand, but I knew that all of them were going to be great.  To my slight disappointment he didn't fill the entire room with presents.  I realized that that would be too many to open in one day anyway and contented myself with what I got.  When he finished pulling presents out of the bag, he stepped back into the fireplace.  He put his right thumb against his nose, and, with another wink and a nod, disappeared back up the chimney.
I heard his thumping boots on the roof again for a little and then, I heard a shrill whistle.  With a jingle of bells, the clack of reindeer hooves, and the scrapes of a sled on snow, I knew that Santa had taken off the roof again.  I ran up the stairs, hoping to get one last glimpse of that jolly old man before waiting for a full year to see him again.  When I reached my window, I heard him give his classic call out from down the street.  "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"  I smiled and, yawning, went back to bed.  I was ready for Christmas to start the next day.

When I told my dad that version of the story, he smiled.  "I guess that wasn't so bad."  He said.  "I still like the original better, though."
"Well," I said, "sometimes new ways of telling old stories are good."
"That's true." he agreed.  "Now good night.  Your mom will kill me if you're not in bed in time!"
He gave me a kiss and tucked me into my nice warm covers.
"Sleep tight, Kiddo."
"G'night, Dad."
"Love you!"
"Love you too.  And, Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas." He answered with a smile that looked almost like how I imagined Santa's must look.

Your Big Backyard

    I sat in my backyard, at about 8 o’clock at night.  As I tried to receive data from my senses, I was amazed at all that was going on!  All my senses had to work hard to assimilate everything that was going on.
    There were only a few tastes in my backyard.  I tasted some phlegm in my mouth at one point when I coughed.  I also tasted a slight, acrid taste I attributed to smoke near the end.
    There were more smells than there were tastes, however.  There was a wintery smell in the air.  Also, there was a slight smell of dog feces and a smoky smell.  Along with this, I smelled the scent of some of the flowers in the yard.
    There were many sensations of touch in that hour I sat in my backyard.  It was cold out that night.  The wind was cold, as well, and even cooled off my pen when I held it against my face.  Since it was cold, I shivered more than once, and tried to keep warm by bouncing my legs.  The chair I was sitting in was soft and comfortable.  At one point, I coughed, hurting my chest.  Near the end, I was getting really tired and stretched, causing my sternum to crack.
    I also felt many kinesthetic sensations in that hour.  I felt comfortable in the surroundings of the backyard.  I was feeling pretty hungry during that time, as well.  Near the end, I was feeling bored and thirsty.
    I heard a lot of things in the hour I was seated there.  Throughout the entire hour, there were dogs barking, whistles sounding, and car horns blaring in the distance.  I also heard, at irregular intervals, water trickling in the distance.  Motor and car noises were almost constant, especially car alarms.  At one point, I heard an automatic car garage opening and then some tires spinning on gravel.  A baby was crying for a long time as well.  Some people walked down some metal stairs with sandals on and opened the creaking sliding door on the other side of the yard.  Many times I heard a metallic clang and creak as a distant gate was opened.  At one point, I heard a large thump as something fell.  Since the chair I was in had wheels, they made noise as I shifted and made the chair creak.  At one point, my dog came out and began to drink water.  Its claws also made a clacking sound on the tile.  Since I had a cold, I coughed interrupting all the other sounds.  Throughout the hour, I heard insect noises.  Near the end, I rustled the paper I was writing notes on.  I also heard the telephone ring and many distant conversations.  I was also hearing music in my head as I sat there.  At the very end, everything seemed to freeze and I only heard ringing silence.
    I also saw many things while I sat in my backyard.  I saw the green and brown grass full of small white and brown lumps of dog feces.  I also saw the watering hose lying like a green snake with a white patch on it at one end of the yard.  I saw an old, yellow, rusted bike leaning on the cream colored wall.  I saw a red tennis ball that had blue and white splotches on it lying in the middle of the yard.  The earth was damp and dark brown and littered with yellow leaves.  I saw the dark sky with white, blinking stars staring down.  I saw my reflection in the dark glass window and shadows moving on the second and third stories.  I saw the dog wandering aimlessly around the yard when it came out.  The leaves on the tree and most of the raspberry plant were green with a yellowish or reddish tint on the edges.  To my left, there was a bunch of red flowers that almost glowed in the dark.  I saw a small plant with long green and yellow leaves with a red and yellow flower bud rising above it.  I saw a couple moths moving, as well.  One white one fluttered around the yard for a while and then left.  The other one, that had a grey color, was darting at the light bulb above me.  I saw a bright red cutting board in the kitchen with photographs on the refrigerator and apple stickers on the cupboards.  I also saw some books sitting on the table inside and saw the lights of a car going up the hill.  I saw reddish-brown and black tile surrounding the yard with white tile in the center.
    In conclusion, I saw, heard, tasted, touched, smelled, and felt many things in my backyard.  Afterwards, I thought that there was a lot going on there, even when I didn’t think about it.  I think it’s worth sitting in your backyard assimilating everything you can.  It will amaze you!

Read and Remember

(This is dedicated to Ramie Harris, a classmate of mine, that, though I didn't know her personally, has impacted my life, and to her family.  She died in a plane crash on Saturday, November 26th, 2011.  May this be an encouragement to those who did know her, as well as to anyone who has ever lost a loved one.)

He just stood there, staring, browsing the spines of old, dusty books on the shelf.  Some were brightly colored; others, dull and brown.  There was no noise except the occasional cough in the distance of the vast public library.  Finally, his hand lifted ever so slowly to the spine of one of those dull, brown books.  The title on the spine read The Magic Sword in small simple gold letters.  He pulled it down off the shelf and, blowing the dust off the cover, saw the intricate gold font spelling the title a second time.  Slowly, a smile spread across the boy's face.  He clutched the large book to his chest and walked out of the aisle.
The boy wandered the library, searching for his mother.  He'd forgotten where she'd told him she would be.  He walked through the rest of the science fiction/fantasy section, then moved on to the fiction.  Just when he was about to lose hope, he found her standing in an aisle flipping through the pages of a magazine.  It took a moment for her to notice him there.  When she did, she jumped, startled.
"There you are!" she squeaked.  Composing herself she asked, "Did you find one you want to read?"
The boy just nodded, and held the book out for his mother to see.  When she looked back at him, his smile widened for a moment before disappearing completely.  His mother's face was full of disappointment.  She gave an exasperated sigh, then returned her magazine to the shelf.
"I guess you can read that one this time." she said.  "Next time, though, I want you to pick out a book that will teach you something real.  You read a lot of that fantasy junk, but it's not teaching you anything."
The boy hung his head in shame.  He didn't want to disappoint his mother, but this is what he liked to read.  Silently, he promised himself he would show his mother the value of what he read.  They walked to the check-out counter and the young librarian stamped the card with the due date shooting a smile at the boy.  He smiled back, happy that someone was glad he was reading the book.
Back in the car, the boy opened the book to the first page, and began to read.  His mother looked at him, gave another sigh like the one she'd given inside and started the car.  The boy spent the rest of the summer afternoon on his bed reading that book.  His mother tried to get him to play outside, but he just shook his head and stuck his nose back in the book.  After a few attempts, she gave up and left him alone.
The boy finished that book quickly.  Within a week, he was back at the library looking for a new book.  Grudgingly, he followed his mother's instructions and looked for a book in the biography section.  None of the names on the spines of the books was familiar.  Then, suddenly, one book caught his eye.  It was an old, dusty, brown book with gold letters spelling out the title on the side.  His heart jumped into his throat.  Could it be?  When he read the title, he smiled.  This biography was of the author who had written The Magic Sword.  He quickly pulled it off the shelf and ran to find his mother.  When she saw it was a biography, she agreed to let him take it home.  He smiled broadly at the librarian as she stamped his book.
The boy read this book just as fast as the first.  His mother was impressed, but worried at the same time.  The boy had begun to stay inside and read all the time.  He never did anything outside.  All he wanted to do was read.  No matter how much she pleaded with him to go outside, he just shook his head and went back to reading.
Then, one day, the boy's father left on a business trip.  On the way back, his plane crashed, killing him and many others that had been on the plane with him.  Both the boy and his mother were devastated.  Even during this time, the boy just wanted to be in his room reading.  His mother didn't care.  She just attributed it to grief.  After the funeral and all the family members had left, the boy and his mother began to adjust to life with just each other.  The boy insisted they go back to the library many times.  Finally, she relented.  They went back to the library and the boy checked out another biography.
As the weeks went by, the boy began to laugh more and become more like he was before his father died.  His mother wondered about this.  The grief for her was still too near to make jokes or laugh, but her son seemed to be fine.  They continued to take regular trips to the library and the boy would sometimes check out a biography and other times take a fantasy novel.  Regardless, the boy kept reading constantly, refusing to go outside.
One day, a couple of months after the father's death, when they had just returned from the library, the grief sprung up on the boy's mother unawares and she collapsed on the living room couch in uncontrollable sobs.  The boy, worried about his mother, ran up to his room and, when he returned, set the same dusty, brown book with the title in golden letters he'd had months ago on her lap.  She looked at him angry and confused.  What use was this book going to be?  It was the biography of some random author!  She pushed the book off her lap, but the boy just picked it up, and set it back on her lap.  When she tried to push it off again, he held it there.  Then, he opened the book to a page near the beginning and pointed at a line.  She forced herself to wipe off her tears and look at the page.  When it finally came into focus, she realized why her son had pointed this out to her.
"Don't cry for those who have died." the line her son was pointing out to her said.  "Instead, remember them with joy, and delight in the activities that they knew you enjoyed."
Suddenly, it all made sense to the boy's mother.  She remembered the smiles her husband had given their son when he walked in the door holding the book out.  She remembered the times when her son was too young to read for himself and her husband had read to him.  She realized that her son was still grieving over the loss of his father, just like her, but he was doing it in a way that showed how much he loved his father: he was reading.  His father had taught him to love books, and the boy had kept reading to remember his father.
She reached down and gently closed the cover.  Then, she stretched out her arms and pulled her son into a long and strong hug.  The boy hugged her back, and tears flowed freely down each of their cheeks.  After a few minutes of this, she pushed the boy back and wiped the tears off his cheeks and her own.
"Thank you." she said lovingly.  Then, opening the book to the beginning, she began to read it out loud to her son, remembering the way her husband used to read to him.  As she read, slowly, very slowly, a smile began to stretch across her face.