Christmas Story 5

Another Christmas story:

“Let’s sing the tooth one again!”

“I hate the tooth song,” Tommy had lost his two front teeth just in time for Christmas and his three-year-old sister, Maggie, insisted on constant recitation of the song.  Tommy didn’t mind the song itself so much, it was what the song implied.  “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth?”  That most certainly was not all he wanted, in fact he would do without his two front teeth for the rest of his life if it meant that his Christmas letter to Santa would be answered.

“The tooth song. The tooth song!”

“Maggie,” Tommy knelt next to his younger sister in a gesture of reason and compromise, “what if Santa hears me singing that song?  What would happen then?”

“You’ll get your teeth.”

“Two things could happen, either I will get my teeth, which I am going to get anyway, when they grow in.  Or, Santa will hear me asking for my teeth and know that I really don’t want them, and I will be branded a liar, and what are liars?”

“Bad boys.”

“And what do bad boys get?”

“Coal.”

“Do you really want me to sing that song?”

“Yes.  The tooth song!  The tooth song!”

Tommy realized that there was no reasoning with a three-year-old, so he began to sing, “all I want for Christmas is. . .” 

He imagined waking up Christmas morning walking to his stocking and finding a pair of teeth with a card.  “I don’t exactly understand why you would want these, but here they are.  Signed, Santa.” 

Tommy had written a letter to Santa a few weeks earlier that had asked for a bicycle.  The letter was fairly nondescript, because he didn’t want to seem greedy, after all Santa hardly ever brings what you really want.  Last year he asked for a live monkey, and got Lincoln Logs.  The Lincoln Logs were great but he really wanted the monkey.  Tommy figured he must have acted too interested in the monkey, making Santa nervous that he would do something to it, like the Johnson’s do to their cat.  He kept his letter very simple. 

Dear Santa,  “dear” sounded too girlish to Tommy, so he crossed it out.  Then, he realized Santa could still read the “dear,” so he scribbled it out completely.  When he finished there was large scribble followed by, “Santa, I want a bike.  Or maybe…” Tommy realized that any “maybe” could end up as his gift so he scribbled that out too.  He finished, “Sincerely, Tommy Davenport.” 

After at least three thousand singings of “All I want for Christmas…” Christmas Eve finally came.  Tommy lay, not sleeping, in his bed.  A boy needs a bike, he thought, I need one.  Yeah, Santa gets it.  He'll bring me one. 

He rolled over and somehow went to sleep.  He dreamed of riding up and down the streets, trips to the swimming pool, jumps, and motorcycle noises.  He could feel the wind in his face, and the freedom of the road.  Like a young Jack Kerouac he explored and theorized all because of his brand-new bike.  As he laid there dreaming of pedaling, his leg jerked and he awoke with a start. 

Santa must have come. 

He crept out of bed and down the hall into the living room.  Nope, no Santa, but there was a glowing light, his mom and dad always left the tree on through the night of Christmas Eve, but there was another light glowing that Tommy had never noticed before.  He crept closer, it was the nativity set that mom had gotten from Grandma just before she died.  He could almost hear Grandma’s voice she would always sing to him. 

The glowing light that had drawn him there was the glitter on the roof of the nativity stable.  It reflected light from the star on the tree.  Tommy examined each individual figure of the nativity.  The wise men held gifts, the angel seemed to float above the stable he had a strange look on his face as if he were singing, the shepherds had lambs, and the animals bowed.  Joseph looked strong and kind.  Mary reminded Tommy of his own mother.  The shepherds, the wise men, the angel, all of the pieces looked toward the manger.  Tommy followed their gazes, and looked down at the little porcelain baby Jesus. 

Then it hit him.  He asked out loud, “Why did you all come?  Why do you care about a little baby?”  He looked more closely at the little baby Jesus.  “It’s a baby.”

Tommy went back to his bedroom, and got back into bed, soon he was again sleeping.  This time he dreamt of angels, and shepherds and wise men.  He went with the shepherds to a stable.  He stood over a manger and gazed down at a baby.  Why?  Why had he come? 

Then he saw the baby as a man, doing things and laughing with the little kids around him.  Tommy watched him help people and talk to them, he saw him make people happy. 

Then, Tommy saw the baby as a man, carrying a piece of wood.  “Where are you going?” he asked.  The man smiled and walked up a hill. 

Then, Tommy dreamed about people all over the place, praying and singing and smiling because of what the baby had done as a man.  Tommy smelled Christmas cakes and turkey dedicated to the memory of the baby.  He saw people giving presents to each other.  And then he saw himself on a bike. 

Boing!

            He was awake.  Out of bed, and into the living room, there it was a brand new bike, just what he wanted.  Maggie had some girl stuff.  His mom and dad looked on smiling. 

Tommy stopped admiring his bike just long enough to glance at the nativity.  He had begun to understand why they came.  “Mom, Dad, people love each other don’t they?”

“Some people do.”

“Jesus loves us, he gave us Christmas.”

“Among other things,” said Dad,

“Yep.  Hey!  Where are my front teeth?”