By Paul K. Malm c2008
The world is white and wonderful—at least it is for Archie and Joel, two renegades recently released from Mrs. Gantry’s third grade class for Christmas vacation. The three days since the last bell rang have been filled with snow forts, slap-shots and winsome daydreams of Christmas morning—that is, until this morning and Archie’s dad’s announcement.
“So, what are you getting for Christmas, Arch?” asked Joel, the fresh snow beginning to stick to his short blond hair.
“Don’t start on me,” said Archie. “Didn’t I tell ya, not to start on me?” His tongue darted out from his slender freckled face as he tried to catch the descending flakes.
“You mean your folks are sticking to it?”
“Stickin’ too it? Yeah, they’re stickin’ to it. They’re going to do what’s best for me if it kills me.”
“Sheesh… sure glad it’s yours not mine.”
Archie adjusted his backpack then pulled his purple stocking cap over his ears. He waited until Joel wasn’t looking, then reached down for a handful of snow. He shot a quick look at his target; the smiling round face of his red-nosed best friend. Joel, seeing the stealthy side action, belched out a cloud of frosty air.
“Don’t you dare!” he warned. “I’m tellin’ ya. You better not start what you can’t finish.”
Thwack!
“Direct hit!” Archie laughed, pointing at Joel’s white Santa eyebrows and glistening cheeks.
“You’re askin’ for a face-wash, man!” said Joel, grabbing snow as Archie mocked.
“Neener, neener, neener, you throw like a wien—”
Thwonk!
“Hey!” yelled Archie, spitting snow. “Truce! Truce!”
“Don’t have the stomach for it, eh?
“You kiddin? I’m just takin’ pity on you. That and my mom said that if I came home covered with snow again I’d have to stay out of the kitchen till I dried off.”
“Ooo, gotcha where it hurts,” said Joel.
“Yeah. The presents may be gone, but it’s still the same Christmas as far as the cookies—and today she’s makin’ my favorite.”
“What? Peanut butter?”
“Naw. She calls ’em Ranger cookies. They’re kind of crispy and chewy at the same time. Mmm, they are so good. “Cept the last time she made them I got sick.”
“Ate too many?”
“Naw, I stopped at twenty. Musta been all the hot chocolate.”
“Uh huh,” nodded Joel. “So, how’d your Dad come up with this crazy idea anyway?”
“Got it from our Pastor.”
“Pastor? What’s that?”
“Duh! Are you serious? At my church… you know, the leader?”
“No, I don’t… never been to church. My Dad says we’ve evolved past all religion and mystrology.”
“What’s mystrology?”
“Don’t know exactly. But I guess it’s good that we’re past it.”
“I wish my dad thought like that.”
“So what did this Pasture of yours say anyway?”
“He got up and read from the Bible—that’s a book, in case you don’t know that neither—about how Christians should always remember people with problems, just like they were having them too. Like if you had a friend that was out of work, you are supposed to think about them as if you were out of work. Or say, someone was in prison, you are supposed to think of yourself, like you were right there behind bars too.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah.” Archie nodded. “I guess my Dad, knows some jerk who actually is in prison.”
“Really? Did he kill somebody?”
“Naw. Nothin’ like that. He stole some money or something. Anyway, his wife’s working now—and they got three kids. My Dad, says they barely have enough to live on and—”
“Serves ’em right,” said Joel. “I mean, him stealin’ stuff—at least that’s what my Dad would say.”
“Maybe so. But your Dad is more Volvo’d than mine.”
“That’s E-Volvo’d, I think.”
“Right.”
“So why does that mean you don’t get any presents?”
“I dunno. Dad just blurted it all out at breakfast this morning—‘Don’t be surprised, son, if there’s nothing under the tree when you come home this afternoon.’”
“Wow,” said Joel. “Were you bad or something?”
“No. Least I don’t think so.”
“So he’s returnin’ them all?”
“I guess. He was takin’ some out to the car when I left.”
“Sorry, man… too bad. How does he expect you have Christmas without presents?”
“You’ll have to ask him, not me.”
“Well, we’re almost to your house. You should know soon enough what the deal is.”
“Yeah.”
“Hey! Isn’t that your dad, standing by the minivan? Wow. Look at all those presents in the— oh… sorry, Arch, think it’s time for me to go home. See ya later, man.”
“Yeah. See ya later.”
Archie pulled his stocking cap down even lower and trudged on up the snowy sidewalk, making sure his father knew he was being ignored.
“Son,” his dad began. “I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t important.”
“Yeah. That’s what I heard.”
“Archie.”
“Sorry, Dad. But—”
“Look, I know this is different and hard to understand. But just once, I’d like us to try to have a Christmas, that’s more than just the stuff. I mean, do you even know what Christmas is really about, son?
“Sure. It’s about God giving us his son, right? And so we have gifts too. Sounds pretty good to me.”
“Yeah, I know. But… but what if I lost my job. What if something happened and there were no presents?”
Archie shook his head and blew his breath out in puffs. “So you’re really going to take them back, then? I thought you and Mom were going to have a talk about it and—”
“We talked about it.”
“Yes?”
“We both changed our minds a little. You’ll see.
‘Really?
“Yes. But in the meantime I could use your help with the last load of gifts. How ’bout it?”
“Aw, sheesh,” said Archie, turning toward the front door. “I don’t believe I am doing this.”
He pushed his way into the pale green rambler and surveyed the living room. The Christmas tree stood loaded with decorations, in its usual place, to the left of the piano. A pine wreath with holly sprigs rested above the fireplace, while stockings hung empty below the mantle. As he grabbed the last few presents he recognized a box he’d particularly had his eye on.
“There goes my fifty-nine T-Bird,” he lamented.
A woman of medium build with long wavy auburn hair entered the living room.
“Ah Mom, do I have to?” Archie asked.
“Think so,” she nodded.
“You’re sure about this too?”
She pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed for a moment, then eased.
“Let’s just say I’m willing to take the risk,” she said.
“Well, I’m not,” said Archie.
“I don’t think you have much of a choice this time, dear.”
“Inside I have a choice.”
“Yes, I suppose you do,” she said.
He sensed disappointment in her voice. She glanced over at the tree.
“Looks like you’re about done,” she said.
“Yeah. This is it.” He adjusted his load and headed outside, where dad was finishing up.
“Thank you, son,” he said, placing the last two presents under the back seat.
“Hey, you two!”
Archie turned to see his Mom standing on the porch.
“I’ve got some fresh Ranger cookies here. Better get ’em while they’re hot!”
Archie glanced at Dad and the race to the kitchen began.
The first plate of cookies disappeared in a flurry of hands, chews and chomps.
“Those are incredible, hon,” said Dad. “How many you got left?”
“Enough,” said Mom.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. The batch for Grandma and Grampa’s is already in the Tupperware on the counter.”
“Grandma and Grampa’s?” said Archie. “You’re going to the farm?”
“Just for a while,” he said. “I’ll be back in plenty of time to watch The Muppets Christmas Carol with everyone.”
He grabbed his scarf and the cookies and made for the door.
“Around eight-ish then?” Mom called after.
“Sounds about right.” He nodded and closed the door behind him.
Eight o’clock came and went. Archie started to plink out “We Three Kings” on the piano. He wondered if yet another family tradition was going to be sacrificed, when he heard the minivan finally pull into the drive. A moment later the front door opened and Dad’s smiling face poked through.
“I’m ba-ack!” he called. “Everybody ready for the—”
“Don’t come inside with those things on,” Mom interrupted. “You know the rule about farm boots in the house.”
“But, Honey, I—”
“Oo-ee, Dad,” said Archie. “I can smell those puppies from over here.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll go out to the garage and change—be back in five minutes.”
“Thank you, dear,” said Mom. “Oh, before you go,” she continued, “did everything work out like you—”
“Couldn’t have been better,” he said.
“Really? Where did you put the… the… you know?”
“It’s in some garbage bags in the van.”
“And how did the—”
“Everything’s fine, Hon, really. It was great. Even the animals co-operated.”
“And Mrs. Abram’s newborn?”
“Amazing.” He shook his head and smiled an odd sort of smile. “You know, this just might work,” he said, then slipped into the garage for clean-up.
As promised, five minutes later he reappeared, decked out in sweatpants and his favorite terrycloth robe.
“Is everybody ready?” he said, finding his chair and the community popcorn bowl. Archie grabbed as much of the fluffy stuff as his hands could hold, then staked out his place on the carpet.
Mom smiled as Gonzo, the funkiest Muppet of them all, appeared on the TV screen and began his schpiel.
“Marley was dead to begin with. There was no doubt about that.”
The next day, Archie awoke to the aroma of pancakes and fresh bacon.
“Come and get it!” called Mom.
He threw off his covers and in a flash his feet hit the cold hardwood floor. Failing to find his slippers, he pulled on yesterday’s socks and dashed down the hall, sliding the last few feet to the kitchen. Seeing Dad already at the table, Archie tried to look sullen, but it was impossible to do in the face of Mom’s banana, peanut butter pancakes.
“I got a stack all ready for you,” she said.
“Great!” said Archie. “So what are we doin’ today?”
“Well,” said Dad, “I thought we’d all go ice-skating first, then come back here for some of Mom’s famous Caribbean stew and finish up with a little inner-tubing at the overpass.”
“Really?” said Archie. “I thought you didn’t like the overpass—said it was too dangerous.”
“I said it was too dangerous without supervision. But since I’m going to be there and—”
“You sure? You know what happened the last time you tried to go down the—”
“Yes, yes, I do,” said Dad, his hand went to his backside, rubbing his memory. “This time we won’t start quite so high.”
“Okay. And then tonight,” Archie asked, “are we doing the usual and going over to—”
“Nothing’s going to be ‘usual’ about tonight, son,” said Dad. “Tonight … we’re going to Fairfield.”
“Fairfield?” said Archie. “Not to the—”
“Yes… to the prison there.”
“Aw geez, you’re still going to do it?”
“Yes.”
After breakfast, the family bundled up and headed for the rink. It was a day full of skating, steamy hot chocolate and dare-devil inner-tubing, with Dad barely surviving the last run on the ‘hill of doom’.
Back at the house everyone had a hot bath—except for Dad, who showered, then mounted a pack of frozen peas against his right thigh for the rest of the afternoon. At six o’clock Dad removed the peas and made the announcement.
“Okay everyone! Fifteen minutes and we’re gonna head out.”
Exactly fifteen minutes later, Dad turned the ignition key and the minivan came to life.
“I can’t believe it,” said Archie, from behind Mom. “We’re going to a prison on Christmas Eve—on Christmas EVE! This is just great.”
“That’s enough, son” said Dad, as they eased out of the driveway.
“But we should be going to grandma and grandpas—or at least people we care about,” said Archie. “Instead we’re going to a prison to see some criminal we don’t even know.”
“That’s not true, son,” said Dad.
“Whadaya mean not true?”
“I’m afraid it is someone we know,” he said, braking for a stop sign. He glanced back over his shoulder. “We’re going to visit Uncle Jeffrey, Arch.”
“Uncle Jeff?” Archie squinted. “But… But I thought he and Aunt Linda moved to Idaho two years ago.”
“Aunt Linda and the kids moved. Uncle Jeffrey went to prison.”
“Uncle Jeffrey went to prison?” said Archie.
His thoughts returned to the time two years previous, when his Dad lost his business and he had to go to work for someone else. He remembered Dad talking about how his bookkeeper had stolen money from him and a couple other businesses too. He didn’t realize, at the time, that the bookkeeper was Uncle Jeffrey.
“It was him, Dad? He was the reason you lost the business? He’s why you had to find another job and we had to move?” His hands tightened into fists. He hated moving; having to fit all his stuff into that tiny bedroom—forced to go to a brand new school and make new friends.
“I didn’t know he was the reason, Dad! Dad… how could you want to… I mean, I don’t want to see him, Dad. I don’t. And I don’t understand how you could even—”
“Maybe it’s not something you’re supposed to understand, son. Maybe you can’t yet. The thing is… it’s Christmas. And Christmas is about—”
“I know what Christmas is about,” said Archie, “and it’s sure not going to prisons.”
“Maybe you’re right, son. Maybe what we’ve always had is better. But this year, we’re having a different kind. And I think Uncle Jeff, especially this year, needs a different Christmas too.”
“He doesn’t deserve Christmas.”
“Fair enough. But sometimes… we get lucky, or blessed or whatever, and we get what we don’t deserve. This Christmas, it’s our chance to give Uncle Jeffrey what he doesn’t deserve.”
The rest of the ride was long and quiet. Archie’s fists remained clenched as he thought about all he’d lost because of Uncle Jeffrey. Finally he saw Dad flick the turn signal and point the car toward the next exit. To the right stood a dark green sign declaring the existence of the Ft. Gordon Correctional Facility. A minute later they approached the guard station.
“ID and affirmation letter, please?” asked the guard from behind the window. Dad passed the paperwork through the glass. The guard perused the documents, then placed a call.
“Mr. Martin will meet you over there,” he said, pointing to a striped parking area.
“Who’s Mr. Martin?” asked Archie.
“He’s the director here. I worked with him once on a Make a Wish fundraiser.”
As Dad finished parking, the front door of the imposing brick building opened. A tall man, dressed in a grey suit and sporting a red Christmas tie, came to meet them.
Dad got out first.
“Welcome to Ft. Gordon,” said Mr. Martin, greeting Dad with an outstretched hand.
“It’s good to be here—temporarily, I mean,” said Dad.
“We can make other arrangements if you like,” grinned Mr. Martin.
“No, no… an hour should be fine.”
“Good! Actually, I don’t think I’d have an extra cell for you anyway.”
“Really?” said Dad. “That many in here… and at Christmas? Must be difficult.”
“Mm,” Mr. Martin nodded. “Hardest time of the year for these fellows. Hope this visit helps your man.”
“I hope so too,” said Dad. “We haven’t talked since he came here. It’s been almost two years.”
“I see,” said Mr. Martin, a look of disappointment crossing his face. “Now, as I recall, you are bringing in a little bit more than the usual Christmas goodies.”
“Yes. The bags are over there,” said Dad, pointing to the black garbage sacks just inside the minivan door. “And my son Archie has a portable player too.”
“Right,” said Mr. Martin. “I can check you out myself and then we’ll head for the day room. You should have plenty of privacy in there. I’ll still have a guard posted outside the door just in case—”
“I’m sure there won’t be any problems, Curt,” said Dad. “And thanks, I really appreciate you’re doing this.”
“Anything to help a friend. You know that.”
“Yes.”
Archie watched the warden go over to the minivan and examine the garbage bags.
He opened the first one and took a whiff.
“Whooaa, a little ripe, don’t you think?” he said.
“Yeah,” said Dad, “I thought about that. At first I’d gathered only fresh hay from the bales, but then it hit me, what was it really like?”
“Mm,” said Mr. Martin. “Well, as long as the smell doesn’t stay there in the—”
“No, no. It’s okay, really—just more concentrated in the bag. And we’ll clean up after—for sure. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”
“Okay,” said Mr. Martin. “It’s your show.” He shook his head. “I know I’m going to hear about this one.” He glanced over as Archie held out his player. “Looks fine to me, son” he said, smiling. “How about we head inside?”
Archie watched nervously as Mr. Martin motioned to the guard at the door. All he wanted to do now was go back and sit in the van, with the doors locked, but soon he was inside with everyone else, following Mr. Martin down a long gray hallway. As they passed what looked like a school cafeteria, he saw a bunch of people seated around tables, talking.
“That’s where we have our general visitation,” said Mr. Martin. “Your room is around the corner.”
After a turn and few more steps Archie saw a lone guard standing by a thick metal door with a screened window.
“This is it,” said Mr. Martin. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”
“Let’s see,” said Dad. “It’ll probably take about ten minutes to get things set. And after we get going, maybe a half hour? Then again, he might walk in and walk right back out, Curt. So I don’t know.”
“Let’s hope you’ll need at least an hour,” said Mr. Martin. “I’ll send the prisoner—I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” said Dad. “It’s okay. It’s what he is.”
A prisoner, thought Archie. He swallowed hard. Uncle Jeffrey is a prisoner.
“Alright,” said Mr. Martin. “I’ll have him sent down in ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you,” said Dad, forcing a smile.
Archie looked up at his father. He felt more uneasy, but didn’t know why. He’d always seen a certain confidence in his Dad’s strong dark brown eyes. But now, for some reason they appeared unsure, even dim, like a lamp with a three-way bulb on its first click.
“I’d like you guys to help me with the set-up—at least until the straw part,” said Dad. Archie glanced around the room. It was a plain rectangular box about the size of their garage, painted much brighter than the hallway. In one corner sat a television surrounded by chairs. In the other stood a scarred pool table.
“We’ll make sure the power works,” said Dad, “then I’ll try the remote from over there. Sweetheart, could you take the blanket and cover the TV? I think the candle should be safe on that shelf above it.”
Archie shoved the plug from the player into a nearby wall-socket and watched the tiny red light on top begin to glow.
“We got power, Dad.”
“Good.”
Dad walked across the room and pointed the remote at the black box on the table. A second later they heard music from the speakers. Dad hit the remote again and it stopped.
“Great. That’s all set.”
“Finished here,” said Mom.
Dad nodded. “Okay, I’d like you two to go outside. Archie, you count to 500 and then both of you can come back in and find a place on the floor.”
“The floor?” said Archie. “Dad, what is this all about anyway?”
“You’ll see. Just find a place. You can sit with Mom if you like. But sit quietly please, until Uncle Jeffrey comes in and then we can start.
Archie shuffled out into the hall after Mom and began counting. He thought again about all he’d lost because of Uncle Jeffrey. He glanced down the cold dark hallway then back at the guard. He felt a shiver as he realized, Uncle Jeffrey had been in this place for two whole years. He continued counting and just as he reached 473, he heard Dad’s voice call.
“Okay, you two… come on back.”
Archie took the first step inside. The room smelled different now; damp, musty, the aroma of spent straw and animals. The floor beneath his feet felt different too; not the solid tile over concrete, but cluttered and uncertain. As soon as the door behind them closed it was pitch black, except for a tiny red light.
“It will take a couple seconds for your eyes to adjust,” whispered Dad. “Then you can find a comfortable place to sit.”
Archie reached down and patted the floor as he tried to get his bearings. A few feet away he heard rustling in the straw as Mom got settled. A moment later a gruff voice intruded from outside.
“Yeah, that’s right—in there, Macklin. And no, I don’t know what’s goin’ on so don’t ask. All the director told me was to tell ya to go in and have a seat. Oh, and he said you’d be sittin’ on the floor.”
“The floor?
“Yeah.”
What for?” questioned a voice Archie still remembered.
When the door opened he saw the silhouette of Uncle Jeffrey’s round forehead and thick glasses.
“What the—” Uncle Jeffrey began.
“If you’d just have a seat in the straw, please,” said Mom quietly.
“Straw?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “ Please .”
The man’s voice softened. “Okay… okay.”
There was more rustling, then someone cleared their throat. Archie saw a brief blink of the red light across from him and then quietly, so quiet it was almost like it was coming from inside him, he heard music begin. It was a simple piece, one he knew; Silent Night, Holy Night. All is calm. All is bright. When it finished, it was a silent night indeed. Then, in the quietness, Archie heard something he’d heard before, but only on the farm; the sound of a lamb bleating, high-pitched, frantic—until a lower “baaa”, answered. A loud long mmmooo intruded and then some clucking and picking and growling and stomping, until silence once again prevailed.
“Mary, I think there’s a place over here,” a voice from the corner suggested—
It was his Dad’s, wasn’t it… or was it?
“Yes. Oh... I… I can… ah… oh.” It was a woman’s voice, in obvious discomfort and pain.
“Oh, Joseph, I don’t think I can… uh.”
“Here, I’ve piled up the straw and… Oh, No!… wait… the cow just—I’ll get some clean straw and—”
“No! I can’t wait Joseph. It’s… oh… oh… please …
“Alright. I’ll just throw some more straw over it and—”
“Yes… yes, that’s it... it’s… ah.”
“Mom, are you okay?” whispered Archie, anxiously.
“Yes. I’m okay,” she whispered back.
“You think it’s time, Mary?” The voice of Joseph, pleaded.
“Yes, I think it’s time.”
“Then shouldn’t I go get the innkeeper and some hot water or—”
“No! No, Joseph, don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!”
“I’m here, love. I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”
“Oh Joseph, I… I can… oh… oh… it’s… I can feel—”
Archie’s heart skipped a beat.
“Oh, Mary… I can see it. I can see it’s head. And it’s… it’s … ”
Archie heard the sharp sound of a baby’s cry, a cough, a gag and more crying. Then Joseph said, “It’s… a boy!” His voice started to break. “It’s a boy! Mary… a boy! Oh, Mary!”
Another mmooo came from the red light and two or three more sheep joined in. A dog, somewhere in the midst of it all howled along with the baby. The tiny light blinked again and what sounded like a wooden door opened. Another voice, older, yelled itself into the fray, “Can you keep it quiet in here? I’ve got other guests, you know—paying guests!”
“Yes, Yes, I know,” said Joseph. “But my wife… my wife, she’s just had a baby, sir… a son.”
“Really? Huh, just another mouth to feed, I’m sure. Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you. But… if you please. I could use a little help with the cord and—”
“I don’t please. But, I’ll try to send the wife out. She’s much better at these things.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Joseph.
Archie heard the door close.
“Oh, sweet love,” said Joseph, “you’ve done a wonderful job. And help is coming, I’m sure. Ah… he’s so beautiful.”
There was the sound of cloth ripping.
“Joseph, your clothes.”
“It’s only my cloak. And I can always find another. We can wrap the strips around him and—ah yes, there’s our blanket too. I can use it and… Oh… oh dear, sweet love… what was it the angel said?”
“His name will be called Emmanuel,” said Mary. “It means, God with us.”
Joseph laughed; huge and full, perplexed, yet jubilant. “God, with us. Here, in this… this barn, this cave—here in this rude rock hollow, God is with us.”
There was silence… pure… deep… no more voices or animals murmuring. From the other side of the room, Archie heard a new sound. It was not like any of the others. This one, he knew, came only when tears ran down someone’s cheek. The sobs grew louder… beyond control, full of anguish and loss, and truth and sorrow, regret and petition. In response, another cry much like the first, dripped from Joseph.
Joseph, once again Father, there in the corner, cried the same cries, full of the same regret and heartbreak. Archie heard a whisper, then Mom rose to light the candle above the blanket-covered TV. It was just a small flicker at first. And yet, in the midst of its glow, so many shadows were cast aside.
He saw his father get to his feet and walk toward his brother. Uncle Jeffrey rose too, then he shook his head and turned away. Archie, heart still pounding, reached up to stop him, but Dad caught him first, pulled him back and wrapped him in his arms.
“I am so sorry,” spilled Uncle Jeffrey, pouring his heart into father’s shoulder. “I am so… so…”
“It’s alright Jeffrey,” said Dad, “It is.”
“No… No! It can’t be,” said Uncle Jeffrey. He paused, head down. Then he looked up, somehow, different. “But… But He… He really is, isn’t He… Emmanuel.”
“Yes, He still is,” finished Dad. “God is with us.”
“But… but…”
“Merry Christmas, brother,” said Dad.
“Merry Christmas, Jeff,” said Mom.
Then Archie, from somewhere far beyond presents, trees and tinsel, from some place he had not known before, looked over at his uncle and through glistening eyes, gave his best Christmas gift ever, “Merry Christmas to you, Uncle Jeffrey. Merry Christmas.”
“From the bottom of my heart,” Jeffrey began. “Thank you. And Merry Christmas to you all.”
It was a silent night in the minivan, on the ride back home. Archie felt like the evening had made the day more full than twenty-four hours could possibly hold. He knew something magical had happened and he’d actually been a part. He’d started to nod off, but caught himself, refusing to go to sleep. He wanted to understand, and keep somehow, the pure, warm, just right feeling he felt beneath his skin.
“Dad?”
“Yes, son?
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?
“You know.”
“I do?” said Dad.
“Yeah.”
“Well,” he began, “I think a lot of us had ‘sorrys’ to say tonight.”
“Yeah. I’m sure glad that these ‘sorrys’ aren’t the kind that make you feel bad—you know, like when you do something wrong and you’re sad, and you say you’re sorry, but that’s it. You can’t do anything about it.”
“You’re right, son. Some ‘sorrys’ are just the beginning.”
“Yeah.”
“Like, I could say, I’m sorry we’re going to have to change our plans again, about tomorrow, Christmas morning.”
“Again? Now what?”
“Well, in the past, you know our tradition has been to get up Christmas morning and head for the living room to read the Christmas story and then open all the—”
“Yeah, yeah, Dad, I know. That’s okay. You don’t need to go there.
“Oh, I think I do. Because tonight, we’ve already had the story. So tomorrow… I think we might want to get up early and pile back into this minivan and head over to Grandma and Grandpa’s farm.”
“Really?” said Archie.
“Yes, really,” said Dad, “that is, if you and your mother want to continue celebrating Christmas and open some Christmas presents.”
“Huh? Want to… what presents? …Da-ad.”
The End
