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People who know me well are familiar with my stance on the holidays. I don't care for the season and the faster it passes the better.
This year was different.
This year, something strange happened.
It began the Tuesday before the big day. I was sitting in my car, eating lunch in the parking lot at work, like I do often, while reading my Twitter list. There in amongst the mundane hourly updates and LOL cat links, there was a tweet from my favorite podcast, TBTL. I followed the cyber thread and learned Luke, the host, was planning a holiday song dedication show.
An idea was born.
I would contact Mr. Burbank and make a dedication to my father. Then if my voice mail was lucky enough to be included, I would burn it for my dad and give it to him for Christmas.
Tuesday slowly ticked into Wednesday and the hours of Wednesday ticked by till at last the podcast was ready to be downloaded. It contained some great Christmas music, a mix of the rarely heard and the old standards. Twenty minutes in, after Mariah's version of "All I Want For Christmas Is You," was my voice begging the TBTL crew to play my dedication to my dad. Tears welled up in my eyes and as they say about our favorite fuzzy, green guy, my heart grew three sizes that day. I couldn't wait for work to end and Thursday to come. I was going to go shopping on Christmas Eve and buy gifts for everyone in my family.
My brain, famous for scathingly brilliant ideas, thought of a scheme where poor little old me could afford to give 20 people gifts for Christmas and not break the bank. There would be toys for Izzy, Nate, and Jacobii of course, and burned CDs for my dad. The rest of the gifts would be things gathered from the bargain aisle at Wal-Mart. I would wrap them all up and put them in a festive bag and let my relatives reach in and choose their gift.
I was giddy as pre-teen boy just discovering what his genitals will do. Bouncing from one foot to the other, I couldn't wait till the evening descended and our Christmas Eve celebration began.
Dad was the first to encounter my Christmas transformation. I presented him with the CDs and instructed him to play the one with the holiday music first. He was half-way listening, not really appreciating the Flaming Lips and their Christmas zoo song. I forced him to stick it out for Mariah, then the moment came. My voice echoed from the speakers filling the computer room. Dad didn't realize it was me. He chuckled about the girl's father's obsession with Elvis, not getting he was laughing at himself. The first notes of "Blue Christmas" began and he noticed the tears in my eyes.
"That was me dad. I called the podcast and dedicated that song to you."
He forced me to rewind the dedication, then hugged me close, telling me what a fabulous gift I had given him. It was all I could do not to have a full blown emotional melt down.
The grab bag session went well, and my family knowing me, enjoyed their bounty.
It was a Christmas miracle.
This year was different.
This year, something strange happened.
It began the Tuesday before the big day. I was sitting in my car, eating lunch in the parking lot at work, like I do often, while reading my Twitter list. There in amongst the mundane hourly updates and LOL cat links, there was a tweet from my favorite podcast, TBTL. I followed the cyber thread and learned Luke, the host, was planning a holiday song dedication show.
An idea was born.
I would contact Mr. Burbank and make a dedication to my father. Then if my voice mail was lucky enough to be included, I would burn it for my dad and give it to him for Christmas.
Tuesday slowly ticked into Wednesday and the hours of Wednesday ticked by till at last the podcast was ready to be downloaded. It contained some great Christmas music, a mix of the rarely heard and the old standards. Twenty minutes in, after Mariah's version of "All I Want For Christmas Is You," was my voice begging the TBTL crew to play my dedication to my dad. Tears welled up in my eyes and as they say about our favorite fuzzy, green guy, my heart grew three sizes that day. I couldn't wait for work to end and Thursday to come. I was going to go shopping on Christmas Eve and buy gifts for everyone in my family.
My brain, famous for scathingly brilliant ideas, thought of a scheme where poor little old me could afford to give 20 people gifts for Christmas and not break the bank. There would be toys for Izzy, Nate, and Jacobii of course, and burned CDs for my dad. The rest of the gifts would be things gathered from the bargain aisle at Wal-Mart. I would wrap them all up and put them in a festive bag and let my relatives reach in and choose their gift.
I was giddy as pre-teen boy just discovering what his genitals will do. Bouncing from one foot to the other, I couldn't wait till the evening descended and our Christmas Eve celebration began.
Dad was the first to encounter my Christmas transformation. I presented him with the CDs and instructed him to play the one with the holiday music first. He was half-way listening, not really appreciating the Flaming Lips and their Christmas zoo song. I forced him to stick it out for Mariah, then the moment came. My voice echoed from the speakers filling the computer room. Dad didn't realize it was me. He chuckled about the girl's father's obsession with Elvis, not getting he was laughing at himself. The first notes of "Blue Christmas" began and he noticed the tears in my eyes.
"That was me dad. I called the podcast and dedicated that song to you."
He forced me to rewind the dedication, then hugged me close, telling me what a fabulous gift I had given him. It was all I could do not to have a full blown emotional melt down.
The grab bag session went well, and my family knowing me, enjoyed their bounty.
It was a Christmas miracle.
