My favorite Christmas with my dad

I’m continuing my “And” series about my father with a great Christmas memory. For more on my goal with this series, see John Cazale and Inmate 19250 » Can’t Juggle.

Family tradition

Every Christmas Eve, my wife, my daughters, and I have “snack dinner” while watching A Christmas Story. This movie is one of our favorites. Even after many years, we still laugh out loud while watching it. Also, Darren McGavin’s performance as “the old man” is one of my absolute favorites in all of cinema.

Snack dinner is just what it sounds like. We each have a favorite snack rather than a meal.

With Christmas fast approaching, I have been thinking more about my old man and my favorite Christmas memory involving him.

Bottle it…

My dad grew up in the 1940s and exhibited the reluctance to show emotion and feelings so common with his generation. Why express one’s feelings when it is so much better to drown them in alcohol? My dad was a Cuddy Sark guy.

I can only remember seeing him emotional on two occasions. I may share these at some point, but for now the key takeaway here is the number TWO.

Even with all the stress of his arrest, the time leading up to his trial, his conviction, and the time leading up to his sentencing, he didn’t share how much he was struggling. Of course not. [sigh]

My dad, in addition to increased alcohol consumption, focused all of his feelings into his right thumb and right temple. He would sit in his reclining chair watching TV (he LOVED animal/wildlife shows), smoke cigarettes, drink scotch and soda, and press his thumb into his temple.

The behavior itself was not really remarkable to look at. But his right temple developed a divot that was at least a quarter of an inch deep. It was almost as if someone had scooped out a chunk of his head with a measuring spoon. My dad was pressing so hard against his head with such frequency and duration that his temple just couldn’t resist. I’ve never seen anything like it.

A full Christmas Tree

The primary way my dad expressed any kind of affection was in Christmas presents. He’d had a well-paying job doing computer mainframe work at a local defense contractor. Apparently, he was awesome at RPG programming. As far as programming languages go, RPG is as close to dark magic as anything I have ever encountered. It makes no sense at all.

Christmases were always full of gifts. Providing all of these presents was massively important to my dad and his self-worth.

An empty Christmas Tree

Our last Christmas together with my dad in the house I grew up in was a tough one for my dad. He had been laid off the previous summer and had not been able to find work. I honestly think he had not been searching for a new job with everything going on related to his arrest, etc.

That Christmas, there were zero presents. The tree was up and decorated as usual, but there was nothing underneath it but empty floor. My dad saw this as failure. We didn’t care about the presents and told him so, but he just couldn’t see it.

After our traditional Christmas Eve treat of tourtiere (French Canadian meat pie featuring ground pork , potatoes, seasoned with cinnamon and cloves), my brother Ray brought out a copy of How the Grinch Stole Christmas and read it aloud (mostly to my Dad). That didn’t get through either.

Note: The fact that the only image in this post of one of a slice of tourtiere with a golden brown crust and luscious filling is not an accident. That shit is so good, you guys.

Minuit Chrétien

The Christmas carol O Holy Night is one of my favorites. The French version, Minuit Chrétien, is particularly beautiful.

My dad LOVED to tell stories. And he was great at it. At one point in the evening, after tourtiere and the Grinch, my dad told a story about being an altar server at a Christmas mass when he was a kid… and then my dad started singing. “It started in low, then it started to grow.” He was singing Minuit Chrétien. “But this… this sound wasn’t sad. Why, this sound sounded glad.” I had never heard my dad sing before. But he sang that night. And it was lovely.

I met his eyes while he sang. They were filled with sorrow and pain, but also determination to make something positive of this failed (his perspective) holiday. He did indeed make something positive that night. That Christmas, with an empty tree and an unexpected musical performance, was that best. I still can’t help smiling when I think of it.

Best wishes to you and yours

Regardless of what holiday(s) you celebrate (or don’t) this time of year, I hope you are able to enjoy time with people you care about. May this season be whatever you need it to be.

Also: Die Hard is a Christmas movie. It just is.