CHRISTMAS IN CALHOUN - FINALLY

The second day of travel in the snow was quiet. Lots of stress and difficult driving conditions. Mom was a nervous wreck. I was back to questioning whether or not Santa would find us. What if we didn't make to Gramma's? What if Christmas was snowed in on the side of the road? Does Santa stop for those kids?

We must have driven as many hours as we could before darkness made progress too difficult. We stayed in some tiny town either in or close to Kentucky. The snow finally slowed. There must have been two feet of snow in the deepest spots. That was about half my height at the time I think. The morning of Christmas Eve we headed out early. Mother wanted to be home with her family. I didn't want to miss Santa.

I remember crawling along in the deep snow with those chains hanging on, sort of. We would hit a patch of road that had been plowed.  Not supposed to drive chains on the asphalt. At lunch Dad took the chains off the tires. He felt certain we would be good to go the last hundred and fifty miles or so.

No, started snowing like a blizzard again only now there was ice, lots of ice. The traffic was melting the snow, the temperature was refreezing the snow making ice, and now snow was falling on top of the ice. The chains were in the trunk.

Well, the discussion switched from, "almost there", to, "never going to get there". Chains? No chains? Dad was not going to wrestle chains. End of discussion. We crawled, we slipped, we prayed. The car was very quiet.

Finally we saw the sign, RUMSEY, pop. 300. Now all we had to do was cross the bridge. Bridges, ice, snow and cold, especially bridges over a river, are slick. Like oiled BBs slick. The bridge never seemed very long. Not scary long. It has a rise in the middle. A slight one. One big enough to keep you from crossing it on a sheet of ice.

We were going. Christmas was right there. Over the bridge, a couple of blocks to Main Street, turn right, Gramma's. Ten minutes. An hour. We would climb the bridge and slide back down. Darkness was setting in.

Finally the tires found the right ruts and grooves and we managed to reach the slight crest of the bridge. It was all down hill now. We rolled slowly down the bridge, skidded around the corner. We were on Main Street and now it was just a few blocks. I could see Gramma's house. WE MADE IT!

When we turned in to the driveway I could see Miss Forrest in the window of the parlor. She looked worried. Very worried and angry. Why would she be angry after we survived literal snow hell to be here?

We were going to be late to church. HURRY!

CHURCH? That was not in my plan. I had things to look for. Gifts, candy, hidden things. What was all wrapped and bowed in the trunk of the car? CHURCH? No, dad wouldn't make us do that. Dad would say, "Forstie, we are all too tired, you and Hardy go....".

I walked into the house through the side porch, eyes sweeping every direction. Where is the stuff? The beautiful tree? The candy in the dishes? I walked through the dinning room and saw the tree.

Speechless. I was speechless. There is was in all it's glory. The aluminum tree with red balls, no lights and one of those color wheels shinning on it. WRONG. Gifts under the tree? NONE. I was standing there trying to figure out how you tell your Grandparent's that an aluminum tree is gross and no way to have Christmas. Trees are big and covered in lights, ornaments and tinsel...lots of tinsel. I knew dad would not stand for this. We had laughed at aluminum trees.

Dad came into the parlor and advised me I needed to hurry and get ready for church. I looked him with big tears in my eyes. I was not only anxiety drenched from the trip now I was beyond disappointed. BEYOND. Christmas, my vision of it anyway, had been pulled out from under me like a rug.

Dad looked at me. I knew he felt the same way I did. This was a stupid tree and a stupid Christmas so far. He obviously felt sorry for me.

No, he didn't. Dad knelt down so he was at my eye level. "Straighten up. You are not going to behave like this on Christmas Eve and ruin it for everyone. Get dressed. We are going to Church. I don't want to see any tears."

Crummy Christmas and I couldn't even be a brat? This was not going to be pretty.

Actually, it wasn't pretty. It was beautiful.