Christmas past

When I think back about my father, who has been gone more than a decade, Christmas memories are often involved. Writing about the past can be tricky. There are tense issues, idealization and memory issues. But writing about my dad and Christmas is easy. I remember it all in bright technicolor.

Dad loved Christmas. I’ve written about his love of it before. He would decorate the house with huge bulbs. Our tree was a labor of love, made complete with tinsel and a chirping bird.

And the food! Christmas dinner was always a glazed ham, a ham so shiny and pink as if fake. Dessert would be his homemade donuts and fruit pies made in the sandwich maker.

Back then, no one ate out for dinner regularly. Dad cooked every night no matter how tired he was. And on Christmas, he put out a huge spread all by himself: that shiny ham, turkey, homemade mash (that I hated and called lumpy so used to instant from the box which Mom favored), potato salad, rolls, cranberries, stuffing (my dad always made an epic stuffing), the list goes on.

And Dad would wake up early to make us all Christmas breakfast. Dad loved a surprise and would chortle with glee as he made pancakes with peanut butter and jelly inside or carefully crafted a pancake in the shape of a heart.

My father was all heart. Dad would always hug me so tight that I would squirm away. He would always say “I love you”. Even in front of my friends. I would get embarrassed and mumble back “love you too”. Then wave him away.

Thinking about it makes me weep while writing this. Dad was so open. He taught me that the capacity to love is in one’s intent. Give love and you shall receive, albeit the truest affection will come later in memories. And written words.

The hardest part of my infertility is the thought that no one will remember me like I remember my dad. In a way, he is still vividly alive in my head. The only way to translate those images in my mind’s eye is through prose.

I so wish I had a child I could show my father’s pictures to. I would start with how he loved Christmas and that his giving unselfish nature was the personification of the holiday.

Then I would end with a huge hug, and say “I love you” just like Dad would.