I’m back after taking a little break last week to study for exams and combat the flu.  I passed all my exams and redeemed myself for that disastrous last semester at ECU ten years ago, and now I have only a slight cough I just can’t get rid of.  To celebrate my success and semi-recovery, Angie and I ventured to Raleigh Sunday for an afternoon of theatre.

            We went to Theatre in the Park for Ira David Wood’s annual one-man performance of Truman Capote’s A Christmas Memory.  It was a very touching story, and I believe that it was the best theatrical performance I have ever seen.  Since we’re only a week from the day, I thought I’d pull up a memory or two of my own.

            Believe it or not, spending Christmas Day at the police department isn’t that bad.  I spent six of the eight Christmases I was employed with the TPD sitting there in the dispatch center.  Aside from actually being expected to work on Christmas, it was a rather enjoyable day that I could spend the bulk of reading or watching TV.

            Sometime mid-morning, the whole squad would gather in dispatch to exchange gifts with our sergeant.  The first call of the day never came in until around 4, when someone who’d been hitting the booze all day finally had just enough to foul everything up for me and their family.

            I really loved Christmas when I was little.  I always hated kids who insisted there was no Santa Claus, and I still do.  Adults who “don’t want to lie to their kids” are even worse.  I remember being in a church service once when the preacher’s wife proclaimed that Santa Claus did not exist, and then proceeded to assault our ears with her rendition of “Mary Had a Baby.”  I briefly questioned the existence of God, let alone Santa Claus, after listening to her caterwauling, but then I came to my senses.  I don’t think God minds Santa Claus if you keep him in proper perspective.  You’re in the minority; get over it.

            I’ll have you know Santa Claus came to my house every year, and one time there was some red fur on the wood in our fireplace where he had torn his pants.  He left numerous apple cores and orange peels behind on the table where I’d put them out for him.  He even left me a nice letter once explaining why he wasn’t able to leave the toy I’d asked for as proof of his existence for a little jerk in my class.  So what if Santa’s handwriting resembled my mother’s?

            Shame on me, I hated it when Christmas fell on a Sunday and we were expected to go to church, but I did always enjoy the Sunday night services before Christmas when there was a church-wide carol fest.  There were special numbers in addition to congregational singing, and one little girl in my class played the Air Force song on the piano.  Puzzling to me also.

            My family always had our big dinner on Christmas Eve, and then we’d open one gift before going to bed.  We’d get up Christmas Day, open the rest of the presents, and then have country ham biscuits for breakfast.  Sometime after noon, we’d visit the grandparents.

            When I was little, Santa Claus filled a stocking for me at my Granny Lewis’s house too.  She always had a table full of ham and turkey, and every dessert imaginable.  In later years, as the family swelled with in-laws, she just cooked a huge pot of vegetable soup and a few desserts, but truth be told, after stuffing myself with ham and turkey on Christmas Eve, just a month after doing the same on Thanksgiving, the soup was a welcome relief.

            This Christmas will be different.  I’m going to Sparta to see how the in-laws do it.  It’ll be my first Christmas away from Tarboro since 1992, and my first away from home ever.  I went to Sparta a few days after Christmas last year, and I was able to take part in one of their traditions that was right up my alley: going to the Barter Theatre in Abingdon, Virginia, to see a Christmas play.  Last year we saw It’s a Wonderful Life, and this year we’ll take in another version of A Christmas Carol.  It should be fun.

            Since I’ll be away, I’ll just wish you a Merry Christmas now...and thank you for doing the same.  Don’t wish me Happy Holidays or Season’s Greetings.  It’s Christmas.  Have a merry one.

© 2007 by J.D. Lewis