I'll be home for Christmas

Every time I hear "I'll be home for Christmas", a song written about a soldier away from home in wartime, I think of my dad in World War II spending Christmas 1944 in Germany. He was in the Ardennes in Belgium, the Battle of the Bulge. So far away from home, in combat, and probably wishing he was home. He made it home, but not after spending one more Christmas overseas, this time in occupied Germany, soon headed home in a troop ship.

I never spent a Christmas overseas away from my family, but there was one Christmas when I was on my own, and far from where my parents lived. It was 1982, and two days before Thanksgiving I was laid off from my job in construction. At the end of the day on Tuesday, our foreman told us "after tomorrow, that's it. No more work for a while". No severance pay, no vacation, no nothing. That's it alright. I filed for unemployment, looked for work but it was recession time, and winter to boot, so not many jobs for a 23 year old with no degree and not many skills.

I spent a lot of time alone in my duplex, watching TV and lamenting about my life. I lived in Northern California, and my parents had retired to Minnesota. I was looking forward to a pretty dismal Christmas and New Years.

After Thanksgiving, my parents called me and said, 'why don't you come to Minnesota for Christmas, we'll pay for your ticket'. Of course this was way before the Internet and Travelocity, so I had to get a ticket and they would pay me back. I had about $200 in savings, and very little cash in my pocket. I did get a round trip ticket from California to Minnesota for $200 (remember, this is the early 80s), so I headed to Minnesota.

I flew into Minneapolis, then caught a flight to Bemidji in Northern Minnesota. This included a stop over in Brainerd Minnesota. The twin turbopop came in for a landing, slid a bit back and forth down the ice and snow covered runway, dropped off some mail and passengers, and then slipped and slid down the runway, headed for the skies again. I was not sure if I would survive the trip. But I made it to Bemidji.

Dad was there to meet me, sitting in his pickup with the heater on, snacking on malted milk balls. It was cold. Really cold, compared to the warmth of California. I loaded my bags in the pickup and we headed off to home, about an hour away. The roads were covered with ice and snow too, just like the runway in Brainerd. 'The roads are in pretty good shape', dad is telling me. 'As long as you keep one wheel on dry pavement there's plenty of traction'.  We came to a 4 way stop, and a car approaching from the right hit his brakes, did a couple 360s through the intersection, and proceeded on his way. Dad didn't even seem to notice, he kept talking about how good the roads were. My God, these people are insane.

We made it home, a warm cozy house, and in time for dinner. I can almost remember the smell of dinner, and seeing Mom greet me. They were happy to have me home, the baby of the family. I spent the next couple weeks visiting relatives, played a lot of cards with  Great Auntie Alma and Great Uncle Otto, ate way too much food, and spend New Years Eve in Shorty's Place, celebrating with my parents and Auntie Flo and Uncle Floyd. I called bingo for the old folks at the nursing home where Mom worked. (Never, ever miss a call in bingo. Tough crowd.) For a couple weeks I was able to put my cares behind me, and be safe and secure in the family nest. Mom made nice hot meals and Dad made cinnamon rolls and hot buttered rum drinks. Looking back, it was probably just what I needed then. I was home for Christmas. The memory of that Christmas, being with Mom and Dad, is one of the brightest Christmas memories I have.

Dad was quite proud of all the firewood he had cut and put up for the winter. He had installed a wood heater to supplement the oil fired furnace in the basement. Now this would probably be called a 'hybrid home energy system' or something like that. Dad put it in to save money and to have the warmth of oak, maple and birch in the house. Some of the wood he had cut near Auntie Flo's house. He found a curious piece of wood there and saved it. It was a piece of oak, with a 2" hole bored through it. He showed that to me and remarked how odd that was. I said, not so odd, I bored that hole through a small oak tree years ago with Grandpa's wood auger. I would give anything to have that piece of wood now.

Mom was working part time at a nursing home in town, and quite proud of having this job and having earned a Nurse's Assistant certificate from the state. It had been her dream as a young woman to become a nurse, but marriage and kids and life got in the way. In retirement she somewhat realized that dream. She brought me to her job, (several times) and introduced me to her boss, her co workers, and all her patients. When she worked the overnight shift, Dad would bring his cinnamon rolls to Mom and 'the other girls' on the shift. I suspect he liked the attention.

That was the last Christmas I spent with both my Mom and Dad. Two years later, I was home again with Mom for Christmas, along with my sisters and brother, for Dad had passed away 10 days before Christmas. A sad time, but it made me appreciate the other Christmas that much more. Christmas has a way to make us happy and sad at the same time.  It's the human condition. Better to feel happy and sad than to not feel at all. Maybe it's not really sad, but rather looking back and being grateful for the years past and the memories we will carry with us forever.

The years go by, and now I'm the parent, waiting for the kids to come home for Christmas. My youngest is flying home soon, and needless to say I'm awaiting his arrival with great anticipation. I probably won't be eating malted milk balls while waiting for his plane to arrive, but maybe I'll tell him what great shape the roads are in, and try to keep one wheel on the dry track in the road.

 I'll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me...

Merry Christmas.