A Light Hearted Holiday

by Ginger Boda

Our little girl, Alisha, was intent on bringing the Christmas spirit to her little gray house on OLE Susanna Street. It seemed there was a bit of "baa humbug" in the air, since major financial burdens had pressed in on us. I tried my best to create the warmth of the holiday in our home, that year, but something was definitely missing. Alisha knew exactly what was needed.

She found our old box of Christmas lights up in the rafters of the garage. Very gingerly, she began to remove them strand by strand, recalling how her dad would check each one, ensuring that they still glowed. She plugged them into the wall, and smiled with each success. In the past, her father had displayed the Christmas lights on the outside of the house, but this year Alisha realized that he wasn't "getting around to it." There was just one week left before Christmas, she pondered, and it looked as though the holiday was going to come and go without even a slight glimmer twinkling from their homestead.

Alisha and her Dad hadn't said much to each other lately. Oh, she knew that he loved her but the words never came easy for him. Ever since she turned thirteen, last year, she and her father had drifted apart, somewhat. He seemed to enjoy talking with her brothers because they always had sports and "guy stuff" to discuss. That was just on the surface, though, and she knew her Dad felt depressed. Something in Alisha now told her that her father needed her more than he cared to admit.

I called to Alisha to come help with the cut out cookies, but she didn't answer. Glancing down the hallway toward her bedroom door, I discerned no movement. Oh, she's probably listening to her music, I presumed. All of sudden, strange noises were heard coming from outside the house. Distracted by the commotion interrupting his day, Mark went to the front door and listened for a moment. Shrugging his shoulders, he shuffled back to his spot in front of the television and let out a big sigh as he sat down.

I tiptoed, sock footed, out to the yard in the chilly afternoon. Looking up and straining to see if there might be a cat on the roof, I noticed the Christmas lights hemming the eves over our garage door, apparently still in their placement process. However, to my confusion, there was no one on the roof. Once again, I called toward the front door for Alisha. Slowly, a sweet little face emerged over the peak of the house. There she was, lights in one hand and stapler in the other, trying to do what has always been known in her home as a "man's job." She was grinning from ear to ear.

I gulped hard, then smiled and praised my little girl for her efforts. However, I did suggest that she come down immediately before she gets hurt. Goodness, she's gutsy, I thought. Hearing the rooftop conversation from the comfort of his cozy couch, Mark reluctantly came outside to assess the situation. He eyed our little rooftop elf, but said nary a word; He simply turned slowly back toward his abode. As I followed behind my grumpy husband, I shook my head in disappointment. The spirit of Christmas was difficult to feel with the tension in the air and the reason for the season seemed to have been forgotten. That simple joy of being together as a family should have been enough, I pondered. My heart ached, as well, for my daughter's efforts to bond with, and please her father.

Knowing that Alisha was determined, I retrieved my jacket from the closet and headed passed the living room to the front door to assist her. I halted mid-step, and a grin quickly replaced my frown, as I surveyed my "scrooge of a husband" putting on his shoes and jacket. Across the room, I noticed that the television had finally lost its voice. Seizing the moment, I sauntered over to the stereo, switched on some Christmas music, and turned to face my hubby. The room began to fill with warmth as our eyes met and a knowing smile was exchanged.

In no time at all, there appeared to be all kinds of activity heard from the rooftop of the little gray house on OLE Susanna Street as the little girl and her daddy laughed and worked together. Although he clearly stated that "he was pushed into the job," he DID wink as he said it. Nothing had changed monetarily for us. Christmas presents would still be scant but the hearts that lived in the little house were already richly gifted. It didn't take much to remind us that the light in our spirit can brighten our world, and the people we love, if we just take the effort to display it.

Finally, the spirit of love and joy had arrived just a week before Christmas. The outline of the homestead became illuminated, as did the heart of our little girl as she bonded with her father and tucked away a precious, and brightly lit memory in the treasure chest of her childhood.