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?”

Christmas Story 4

Last year, in December, I wrote this:  

For about ten years, starting in 1994, I wrote an annual Christmas Story. The first two were written while I was a missionary. I'd send them home to be read on Christmas Eve and in that way I would participate in the family's Christmas festifities. The only rule (self-imposed) was that the story had to revisit the nativity in one way or another. These are not the best writings ever written, but they are heartfelt. I will post several of them over the next few days.

I posted three last year; I'll post a few more this year.

Christmas 1997

Mary squinted to see her husband.  Although they were married, she felt as if she didn’t know Joseph as well as a wife should.  Their marriage had been arranged by the master and he was only interested in the next generation of slaves. 

Mary had heard that other masters encouraged love and voluntary marriages.  But not Master Johnson, he was all business. 

Mary was very lucky to have gotten Joseph.  He was strong and handsome.  He had a quick wit and didn’t mind laughing, but his quiet, reflective side was his most attractive quality. 

The day they jumped the broom, Joseph took her to the tiny shack they would share with another family. He said, “I won’t never harm you.  You is my wife, legal as any man anywhere.”  

She believed him.

Joseph looked up from his spatula; he had been tarring the roof.  For some reason the master had given him some precious free time to work on the tiny shack.  It was rare to have a day off, especially in such fine weather.  November had been unusually warm and the cotton crop was still being baled and exported. 

Surely, there was much to do, but Joseph didn’t question.  Joseph saw Mary peeking around the corner of the tiny shack.  She was so beautiful to him even seven months pregnant. 

“Joseph, the master wants us up to the house.”

When the two arrived at the plantation house a man they had never seen before was standing on the steps, his voice was soft as he announced, “Thomas F. Johnson has died, in his will he has freed the persons of color in his possession.” 

Twenty-five slaves stood there.  No noise.  No one breathed.  They couldn’t.  Freedom in their lifetime was merely a dream, but now it was a reality.  Joseph pulled Mary close, “we leavin’ here.”

Philadelphia was so far away, especially in winter.  Mary could never walk that far.  She never asked where he got the donkey.  It would hurt him if she accused him of stealing; perhaps he traded for it.  Whatever the case she was grateful for its warm body beneath her. 

The journey was truly difficult. Joseph’s feet, ears, and nose were sore—probably frostbitten.  Mary had been jarred and thrown by the plodding donkey; she was completely weak when they arrived in Philadelphia. 

“We gots to find a stable so’s I can sell this beast to get some money for a roof.” 

Joseph looked up; in the distance there was pole with a lamp blazing from its top.  Joseph felt compelled to follow the light. 

From a side ally Mary could hear singing.  “Listen Joseph, they’re singing about the baby Jesus.  You sing to me Joseph.”  Joseph’s deep baritone filled the streets. 

“In Bethlehem a child is born/ Oh angel come and blow your horn/ the Christ Child he/ the Christ Child he.”

            Just below the street lamp Joseph found a stable.  Night had fallen on the city and the stable seemed deserted.  He knocked on the door, no answer.  He knocked more loudly, still no answer.  Joseph tried the handle.  The door swung open.  He peered into the dark building, just horses and straw. 

“Joseph!” Mary cried, “the baby.”

There in the stable on that cold winter’s night, Joseph and Mary brought forth their first child, right next to the manger.  Joseph held Emmanuel as Mary drifted off to sleep.  It was Christmas.

Counting On One's Hands

My four-year-old daughter, Kitty (names have been changed), made an amazing discovery last week.  The discovery came as she inspected her right hand.

"Dad, I only have five fingers!"

Holding up her right hand, she counted in order to verify, "one, two, three, four, five.  I only have five fingers!" 

She seemed concerned, panicked even, as if all of the work she needed to do could not possibly be done with only five fingers.  

Not satisfied, she counted again.  This time starting with her left hand, "one, two, three, four, five," moving back to the right hand she continued, "six, seven, eight, nine, twelve."

"Dad!  I have twelve fingers!"  This was even more concerning to her than when she only had five.  

She turned to six-year-old Mimi, "I have twelve fingers!"

"Count them again," Mimi calmly counseled.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.  Oh, okay."

Catastrophe averted.

Savior of the World

I have been blessed to be a part of the LDS Church's production of Savior of the World several times now. This year Buffy, Ike, and Mimi are also in the show. We perform three times per week at the LDS Conference Center Theater.

The first act portrays the Christmas story starting with Zacharias and Elizabeth and ending at the stable with a lovely manger scene.

The second act picks up at Jesus' tomb as the stone is rolled into place. The show was designed to combine Christmas and Easter.

This year I play Thomas--the apostle. His story is one that I relate to, it's also quite touching. You'll remember that Thomas was the only member of the twelve (with the notable exception of Judas) to miss out on the initial upper room experience where Jesus appeared to and ate with the apostles.

In this production, Thomas is distraught that he cannot be a witness, having missed his opportunity to see. Peter teaches him that seeing is not enough, and that some who saw Jesus were among those who condemned him to the cross. In spiritual matters what we feel, genuinely, makes us more of a witness than what we see. Eventually Thomas does see the Savior, but only after he has fastened himself to hope without making demands.

The following video was made a few days ago and features the other cast (the one that Buffy, Ike, Mimi, and I are not in). But, what these cast members say and feel certainly applies to us. If you'd like to see the show go to lds.org/events. Tickets may be gone, but stand-by tickets are available every night. Our cast performs Wednesday nights, Friday nights, and Saturday matinees until New Year's Eve.

Um...

This post is past due.  I like to post at least twice per month; at this rate, I might not meet my goal for November.  The problem is that I have nothing that I care to talk about.  Nothing at all.  So, I guess I am posting just to post right now.

So... uh...

...how's things?

Snowed the other day.   Not sure what that'll mean for getting the Christmas lights up.

...yup...

Have you noticed how I have three "followers" on this blog?  One of them is me.  That's kind of funny.  The other two are from the same family and are just being nice.

...I guess...heh...

Ike (age 8) taught me two "manly dance moves" yesterday.  The first was that thing that Russian dancers do, where they fold their arms and kick out.  The other involved swinging your left arm stiffly in front while jump-sliding backwards.  I had to admit that he was right--they were manly moves.

...so...you know...

VoiceMale did a performance at the state prison last week...

...I don't want to say it...

...we had a captive audience.

Actually, it was a great experience.  It really seemed to help lift the inmates' spirits.  I know they're all in there for a reason, but we met some good men and had a great time with them.

...mmm hmmm...

Looking forward to Thanksgiving.  I like being with my family--it's my family's year. 

...yep...

My friend from college is in Sister Act on Broadway and will perform on the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade. 

...So that's cool.... 

...We called him Elvis (that's not his name).  He got me my first collegiate acting role.  A musical called The Hired Man.  I played 3 characters: Pennington, the Vicar, and the foreman.  The foreman  wore wool pants that chaffed the heck out of my knee pits. I can still feel it 17 years later.

...17 is one of those forgotten numbers, right between milestones 16 and 18.  Poor 17, she just wanted to dance. 

...This post just got a little weird.

So...yeah...

...bye.

Greetings from a place that is large and not difficult

Hey, everyone (i.e., Mom),

I was in New Orleans a couple of weeks ago.  New Orleans, Louisiana, NOLA for short.  Nola is also my aunt's name, which might explain her love of beads and jazz, and her hate of hurricanes.  I'm just kidding, I don't know if my aunt hates hurricanes.  My mom's side of the family is, after all, an exceptionally loving group of people, and they do give those hurricanes adorable names.  To read more about hurricane names click here.  I wonder if there has ever been a hurricane Nola.  There's a headline for you: NOLA Ravaged by Nola: Big Easy vs. Big Breazey.


The city is pretty cool for being nearly 300 years old although it's kind of hard to get around.  Actually, come to think of it, most 300-year-olds have problems getting around.  So, I guess I'll cut her some slack.

I ate Gumbo at a restaurant called "Gumbo Shop."  I assume that I could buy shoes at a place called "Shoe Store," and kittens at "Cat Market," and beans at "Bean Place."  I would then put the new shoes on the new kittens and feed them only new beans.  Poor kitties.


I was there for a conference.  A conference aimed specifically at transportation-agency training directors.  A bunch of trainers at a conference is like a bunch of professional scouters on a camp out.  We tend to get a little judgie of the presenters.  "Throwing the koosh ball to get people to participate is so last decade; These tables ought to be in an inverted-U shape to take better advantage of the room dimensions; She just read every word on that slide--Rookie; etc."

The conference felt long, because all conferences feel long to people who cannot concentrate for more than three minutes at a time.  Worse, I had no cell phone to play games on. That's right,  I had to go to New Orleans without my cell phone.  Not bringing one's cell phone to NOLA is number 5 on the list of silly mistakes made by people traveling to the Big Easy.  Here is the rest of the list:

1. Don't go sniffing around Bourbon Street, you will find something stinky.
2. People in NOLA are very friendly while they steal your wallet.
3. The sidewalks are constructed from slate slabs as a way of tripping the very drunk.
4. The water is wide, you cannot cross o'er.
5. You'll need your cell phone at some point.
6. Who Dat?

My phone mysteriously went missing the night before I flew out.  I hunted for it until 3 AM before I finally gave up and slept as a pile of defeated human on the basement couch.  I left two hours later at 5 AM.  I want to blame my kids for losing my phone, but it probably is only their fault because I raised them wrong.  I really needed the phone so that I could communicate with people back where I live without having to pay the equivalent of *choose a metaphor* that they charge for using the hotel room phone.

A cellular phone device would have been handy in the airport on the way home when my plane got delayed and I missed my flight from Atlanta to Salt Lake and had to spend the night--all nine hours of it--in the surprisingly bright, bustling, and frigid Atlanta airport.  I called Buffy on an airport payphone.  Every airport still has exactly one payphone left over from the days when you could give someone a quarter and ask them to call someone who cared.  You can find banks of phone booths, sure, but all of the phones have long been removed except for one, which is located directly in the middle of the airport.  In order to locate the last pay phone, you have to ask an airport cleaning person for directions.  The cleaning person then presents you with three riddles.

Riddle #1: Q. I butt in the lines of fountains, wedge the briefs of the timid, and feed on the weakling's lunch money.  Who am I?  A.  School bully.

Riddle #2: Q.  Like a slow and exacting wind mill, I wave from my face.  I repeat all I know twice per day.  I repeat all I know twice per day. Who am I?  A. A clock.

Riddle #3: Q. Your turn.  A. I walk with four legs in the morning, two at midday, and three in the evening, what am I?  Q.  A person?  A. Yes.

Once you have been led to the phone, you must wait in line for it and must also choose between a red and a green pill that the TSA provides at no additional cost.  Choosing incorrectly will result in your death.

You can use a credit card on the phone.  There is also a loan officer there to approve your credit.

After conquering the nine trolls that guard each individual touch-tone button, I left the following message on my home phone,

"KSHHHHHSHHHVISHSHbuffyI'mnotEEEEEEEEKSHHtomorrowbyaroundFFFFFFLLLLSHHHHseeyouthen."

The phone may have been trying to send a fax.

With no other riddles to answer, trolls to conquer, or tolls to pay,  I put my jacket over my head and sought a place to lie down, not necessarily in that order.

I found a nice, soft, isolated bank of airport seats on which to lie.  I was soon joined by another traveler lying on the adjacent bank of seats.  I knew there was someone there not because I saw that person (my jacket was over my head after all), but because s/he started watching what sounded to me like a Chinese-language movie musical on a laptop.  It must have been good because s/he sang along loudly with each musical number.

I got up and moved to a better place next to an area where the airport's night employees like to take breaks and talk to one another about, you know, life and love.

It didn't matter, because at this point I was very tired.  I slept.  I remember dreaming about earthquakes.  In fact, in one dream a brick wall fell and then a roof caved in--all right on top of me.

When the morning finally arrived, I wandered to my gate.  I passed several people wearing University of Utah gear.  And, although I was not wearing anything that would identify me as a Utahn, I nodded knowingly at one of the gentlemen.  Thinking back, I'm quite sure that he interpreted my nod as code that I had decided to murder his family.   My hair was matted in the back and my eyes were, no doubt, crazed.  Full disclosure: I did not murder his family.  I only killed his cat (after making it wear shoes and eat beans).

It was a nice trip, and yes, I will do it again next Fall.

Ladies and Gentlemen Your Attention Please

A while back, I posted a video that I made as an audition for a group called Voice Male.

I initially thought that I was applying for an internship with a misogynistic telecommunications company, but it turns out that it was a six-man singing group.  I thought that perhaps "baritone" was a nickname or title.  Maybe short for Baron von TouchTone.  Who knew?

Anyway, I made it into the group.

It's true.  You can check it out here.  See that picture of a bureaucratic-looking, deer-in-the-headlights guy?  That's me.  That picture was used because the people making the announcement needed a picture and I had not provided one.  So they resorted to Google-ing me (don't worry mom, it just means looking me up on the computer), and somewhere lodged in the great bowels of the internet was this picture.

The funny thing about the picture is that I have absolutely no recollection of ever sitting for it, and what's spookier is that I do not recognize the tie.  I can only assume that the Voice Male webmasters and mistresses have access to a search engine that sees into the future.

I took the evidence to Lady Buffington.  She said, "Oh, that's from your first year in the MPA program.  The tie is my brother's; you borrowed it for our engagement photos and hadn't given it back yet, even though it had been like three years.  Also, this was the day that you ..." She went on from there into ever-increasing detail, replete with foibles and anecdotes.

So, the picture is from eight years ago.  And, my lady has a great memory.  Warning, here comes a colloquialism: Her memory is so good she'd tell a cheetah his spots were in the wrong place, and by gum she'd be right!

So the moral of the story, have better pictures on the internet.

Also, go check out my group's website.  If you haven't seen Voice Male perform before, they're--excuse me--we're really funny.  You'll have a good time.  Check the performance calendar, and get tickets.  And, if you're on  Facebook, like us.

One more also, you can see me, Lady Buffington, Ike, and Mimi in Savior of the World in the Conference Center Theatre every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday matinee (except for December 2, 9,10, and 21) from the middle of November until the end of December.  Tickets are available at lds.org (find the events page).