Merry Christmas to All
Memories of Christmas past always have a certain rosy glow, a patina of nostalgia that can make it difficult to separate what actually happened from the retellings over the years. Maybe the turkey really was as huge as we remembered, or maybe it just seemed so big because we were so very small at the time. Did the tree really stretch all the way to the ceiling, or was it just a matter of a preschooler's perspective that made it look that way?
I originally wrote this story last year for Odd Prompts, and I've done a little fiddling with it off and on, trying to get it more to my satisfaction.
==========================================================================================
A Moment of Magic
When I was twelve years old, I had the most wonderful Christmas.
It didn't start that way. Dad had lost his job and we were flat broke, living in a tiny, drafty trailer. My mom had explained to us kids that there wouldn't be any Christmas this year, so I hid my disappointment and put my best face on things for my little sisters.
But it still stung, especially when I realized I'd have to sit and watch while the rest of my class exchanged gifts at the Christmas party on the last day of the semester. Would it be better if I just asked to sit in the library instead? On the other hand, if I did that, I'd miss out on the cookies afterward. Considering we sure weren't getting any sweets at home, that would be a big loss.
So I was feeling pretty bummed by the time the doorbell rang. I sure didn't expect to find two of the ladies from the church where we'd gone for the free Thanksgiving dinner. And they had two big boxes.
For an awful moment I thought Mom was going to thank them and say we were fine, we didn't need anything. She hadn't even wanted to go to the Thanksgiving dinner, but Dad had convinced her by saying one of the neighbors had invited us and would be hurt if we didn't show up.
There was a moment of communication as their eyes met, another of those bits of adult code that kids glimpsed but weren't privy to. There would be none of that no, thank you, good-bye stuff today.
In came the two church ladies with their big boxes. "We brought some food, and if you need winter coats or warm blankets, we can arrange that too."
Mom reassured them that we all had just gotten brand new winter coats back in September, right before Dad lost his job. She even opened the closet and showed them, as if she was afraid they thought she was just saying that to be polite.
And then the older of the two church ladies said in a no-nonsense voice, "Also, we had some very special donations this year, so that each child can have their very own advent calendar."
Yes, she could tell that Mom would probably try to politely decline them, to insist that she'd already told us there'd be no Christmas presents this year, that these gifts should be given to other, more needy children. But Mom wouldn't answer back to that tone, even if she blushed and got all awkward about having to accept them.
The first two advent calendars looked pretty much like the one Grandma had given me when I was in second grade. The boxes had images of wreaths and holly and a fireplace with the Yule log burning, and you could just barely see the little doors that would open to reveal each day's piece of chocolate. But the third was several times larger, more the size of one of the big sausage and cheese sets I tried not to look at too much when we had to go shopping at the closeout store.
I swallowed hard, realizing that if that advent calendar was full of sausages and cheeses and stuff like that, I'd have to share them with everybody. I'd probably just get one tiny sliver of each day's goodie, and that might get taken away if I showed too much disappointment that it was so small.
That was when I actually saw the front of the box, with the bright golden letters across the top reading Magician's Advent Calendar and the image of a black-clad man pulling a white rabbit out of a top hat. How long ago had it been that I'd found that book on magic at the library? When I saw You Can Do Magic on the spine, I had visions of casting a spell to get me out of all this crap, like in the fantasy games I used to play. Was I ever disappointed when I discovered it was a book on stage magic.
I tried some of the tricks, but we couldn't afford to buy any of the equipment and my makeshifts sure didn't work very well. So I'd taken the book back to the library when the loan period ran out, and I'd almost forgotten about it.
Waiting for the first day of December seemed like an eternity, even if it was only a couple of days. Finally I got to pop open that first flap, and out came a set of shiny rings. I remembered how that trick worked, although it took a little trying to find the hidden opening on each ring.
I spent the rest of the evening practicing that trick over and over again, until Dad said it was time for bed. Even then, I kept seeing the rings in my mind, and I think I must've dreamed of doing the ring trick that night.
The next day's compartment held a pack of cards. Not ordinary playing cards, but special cards set up for doing several types of card tricks. I had some fun trying them, although a couple required an assistant, and I wasn't sure I wanted to have my little sisters handling them.
Over the following days I received the equipment for one after another cool magic trick. I would've spent all my time practicing my various tricks, except I knew I had to keep up with my homework. I sure didn't want to have my folks decide to take everything away from me, but I still knew I'd be glad when school was over for the semester. Even having to sit on the sidelines while the other kids opened their presents in the gift exchange didn't bother me. I just spent the time practicing my palming skills with my eraser, and got so into the zone with it that I almost missed the cookies and punch until one of the room mothers reminded me.
She was actually interested in what I was doing. "We're going to doing a dinner fundraiser right after the new year, and we'd like to have a talent show. Would you like to do some magic tricks?"
Would I? I started to say yes, then caught myself. "Um, maybe I'd better ask my folks first."
"Don't worry. If you'd like to, we'll ask your parents."
Going back home that afternoon, I felt like I was floating a couple of inches above the ground. I was busting with eagerness to tell Mom and Dad all about the talent show, but scared that if I told them, they might say no and then they'd have to tell the room mothers no, which would ruin everything. And then I opened the door and walked in to Mom asking me if I'd like to put on a magic show for the talent show next month.
So what comes out of my mouth but, "Oh good, she's already asked you."
Then I had to explain that I was worried she and Dad would say no if I asked first. I think she was just a little hurt by that, even if I didn't mean to. When you're a kid, it seems like it's always easier for grown-ups to say no if a kid asks for something, but I guess when you grow up you forget what it feels like.
But once we got that misunderstanding cleared up, she called back to let the organizers know that yes, I was interested in participating. And then I needed to practice my magic tricks, and start planning how to turn a collection of tricks into an actual show.
By then were only three days left before Christmas, and in those last three compartments of the advent calendar were the last pieces of a magician's kit. The long, skinny flap held a handsome wand with pearlescent tips, far better than the black pencil I'd wrapped with paper on both ends. The next compartment held a beautiful satin hat - how it fit in there I couldn't imagine, but it must've been collapsible, even if I never figured out how to fold it back down. From the last compartment I pulled a bunny with beautiful blue eyes and fur of white satin plush. I decided to call him Mr. Pibbles.
At first glance, I thought he was just an ordinary rabbit plushie, until I sat him down and he pulled his legs under him just like a real rabbit. Could Mr. Pibbles be some kind of robot? Except I never found a battery compartment or a jack to plug him in.
All Christmas break I practiced like crazy, until Mr. Pibbles and I were a team. He'd slip right into the hidden compartment in my magician's hat so I could show it was "empty," or put it on without worrying I'd end up with a plush bunny on my head. He'd even hop through the rings during the ring trick, and some other little things that made my show even cooler.
Finally the big day came. We'd found a black jacket and trousers and a white dress shirt at the thrift store, so I could look like a real magician. One of the fourth-grade room mothers had a background in theater, so she put stage makeup on me so I'd look good under the stage lights.
All the time I was waiting, I kept going over my act in my head. From backstage I could see most of the stage, and just barely see the tables set out in the gymnasium, all the people sitting at them. Each act got applause, but something about it felt forced, out of politeness or even sympathy for these kids who were trying so hard to raise money when there was so much need in town.
And then it was my turn. For a moment my stomach felt all fluttery, and I was scared I'd forget everything and make a fool of myself. Mr. Pibbles twitched his whiskers and made me smile, and the fear melted away. Once I started my patter, everything followed just as I'd practiced so many times. Before I knew it, I was finished and it was time to clear the stage for the next act. I only halfway heard the applause when I exited as the teachers directed me.
Afterward, as I was waiting for my parents to come back and pick me up, I overheard the PTA treasurer telling the principal that we'd raised over seven thousand dollars for the poor relief fund. When you're twelve years old, that's an awful lot of money, although it probably didn't go near as far as I'd imagined it would.
By the time I got home, I was so tired it was all I could do to get out of my magician's outfit and wash the stage makeup off my face before I collapsed into bed. Sleep was dark and dreamless, and I didn't wake up until the sunlight was shining right into my eyes.
As I crawled out from under the covers, I reached up to scratch Mr. Pibbles behind the ears. Except that morning he didn't twitch his whiskers or rub my hand with his nose.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I realized that my beloved magic rabbit was now just an ordinary bunny plushie. My mind raced as I tried to recall anything that I could've done wrong, that could've caused the magic to be taken away.
Mom and Dad had insisted we'd all write our thank-you notes before we got to start opening our advent calendars, so it couldn't be a punishment for ingratitude. Could there have been some kind of rules about using the tricks, like you could only use a certain one so many times each day? Except by now the box was long since thrown away, so if there was any fine print, there was no finding out now.
The next several days I spent fighting back tears. I was not going to blubber like a kindergartener. I even was careful to practice all my tricks, because I sure didn't want anyone to ask why I'd abandoned it all just like that. As I did, I could see where some of them formerly had just a little extra, but now it was gone.
I kept at it enough that I got reasonably good. By high school I was doing shows for little kids' parties, but I never quite made the jump to the big leagues. And I began to wonder if I'd been wrong to assume that the retraction of the magic was a punishment.
Looking back on that wonderful night, I'm convinced that yes, there is real magic in the world, but it comes as it will, unbidden and often un-looked-for. It cannot be commanded, nor can it be grasped and held, lest the doors be forever shut and the keys lost. But when it's truly needed, it will be there, until it's time to move on.
==========================================================================================
In addition, I've followed my usual practice of making my Christmas-themed novel The Workhouse War available for free all day on Christmas.
Another Christmas story, Lunar Christmas, is always available for free at Liberty Island.
I originally wrote this story last year for Odd Prompts, and I've done a little fiddling with it off and on, trying to get it more to my satisfaction.
==========================================================================================
A Moment of Magic
When I was twelve years old, I had the most wonderful Christmas.
It didn't start that way. Dad had lost his job and we were flat broke, living in a tiny, drafty trailer. My mom had explained to us kids that there wouldn't be any Christmas this year, so I hid my disappointment and put my best face on things for my little sisters.
But it still stung, especially when I realized I'd have to sit and watch while the rest of my class exchanged gifts at the Christmas party on the last day of the semester. Would it be better if I just asked to sit in the library instead? On the other hand, if I did that, I'd miss out on the cookies afterward. Considering we sure weren't getting any sweets at home, that would be a big loss.
So I was feeling pretty bummed by the time the doorbell rang. I sure didn't expect to find two of the ladies from the church where we'd gone for the free Thanksgiving dinner. And they had two big boxes.
For an awful moment I thought Mom was going to thank them and say we were fine, we didn't need anything. She hadn't even wanted to go to the Thanksgiving dinner, but Dad had convinced her by saying one of the neighbors had invited us and would be hurt if we didn't show up.
There was a moment of communication as their eyes met, another of those bits of adult code that kids glimpsed but weren't privy to. There would be none of that no, thank you, good-bye stuff today.
In came the two church ladies with their big boxes. "We brought some food, and if you need winter coats or warm blankets, we can arrange that too."
Mom reassured them that we all had just gotten brand new winter coats back in September, right before Dad lost his job. She even opened the closet and showed them, as if she was afraid they thought she was just saying that to be polite.
And then the older of the two church ladies said in a no-nonsense voice, "Also, we had some very special donations this year, so that each child can have their very own advent calendar."
Yes, she could tell that Mom would probably try to politely decline them, to insist that she'd already told us there'd be no Christmas presents this year, that these gifts should be given to other, more needy children. But Mom wouldn't answer back to that tone, even if she blushed and got all awkward about having to accept them.
The first two advent calendars looked pretty much like the one Grandma had given me when I was in second grade. The boxes had images of wreaths and holly and a fireplace with the Yule log burning, and you could just barely see the little doors that would open to reveal each day's piece of chocolate. But the third was several times larger, more the size of one of the big sausage and cheese sets I tried not to look at too much when we had to go shopping at the closeout store.
I swallowed hard, realizing that if that advent calendar was full of sausages and cheeses and stuff like that, I'd have to share them with everybody. I'd probably just get one tiny sliver of each day's goodie, and that might get taken away if I showed too much disappointment that it was so small.
That was when I actually saw the front of the box, with the bright golden letters across the top reading Magician's Advent Calendar and the image of a black-clad man pulling a white rabbit out of a top hat. How long ago had it been that I'd found that book on magic at the library? When I saw You Can Do Magic on the spine, I had visions of casting a spell to get me out of all this crap, like in the fantasy games I used to play. Was I ever disappointed when I discovered it was a book on stage magic.
I tried some of the tricks, but we couldn't afford to buy any of the equipment and my makeshifts sure didn't work very well. So I'd taken the book back to the library when the loan period ran out, and I'd almost forgotten about it.
Waiting for the first day of December seemed like an eternity, even if it was only a couple of days. Finally I got to pop open that first flap, and out came a set of shiny rings. I remembered how that trick worked, although it took a little trying to find the hidden opening on each ring.
I spent the rest of the evening practicing that trick over and over again, until Dad said it was time for bed. Even then, I kept seeing the rings in my mind, and I think I must've dreamed of doing the ring trick that night.
The next day's compartment held a pack of cards. Not ordinary playing cards, but special cards set up for doing several types of card tricks. I had some fun trying them, although a couple required an assistant, and I wasn't sure I wanted to have my little sisters handling them.
Over the following days I received the equipment for one after another cool magic trick. I would've spent all my time practicing my various tricks, except I knew I had to keep up with my homework. I sure didn't want to have my folks decide to take everything away from me, but I still knew I'd be glad when school was over for the semester. Even having to sit on the sidelines while the other kids opened their presents in the gift exchange didn't bother me. I just spent the time practicing my palming skills with my eraser, and got so into the zone with it that I almost missed the cookies and punch until one of the room mothers reminded me.
She was actually interested in what I was doing. "We're going to doing a dinner fundraiser right after the new year, and we'd like to have a talent show. Would you like to do some magic tricks?"
Would I? I started to say yes, then caught myself. "Um, maybe I'd better ask my folks first."
"Don't worry. If you'd like to, we'll ask your parents."
Going back home that afternoon, I felt like I was floating a couple of inches above the ground. I was busting with eagerness to tell Mom and Dad all about the talent show, but scared that if I told them, they might say no and then they'd have to tell the room mothers no, which would ruin everything. And then I opened the door and walked in to Mom asking me if I'd like to put on a magic show for the talent show next month.
So what comes out of my mouth but, "Oh good, she's already asked you."
Then I had to explain that I was worried she and Dad would say no if I asked first. I think she was just a little hurt by that, even if I didn't mean to. When you're a kid, it seems like it's always easier for grown-ups to say no if a kid asks for something, but I guess when you grow up you forget what it feels like.
But once we got that misunderstanding cleared up, she called back to let the organizers know that yes, I was interested in participating. And then I needed to practice my magic tricks, and start planning how to turn a collection of tricks into an actual show.
By then were only three days left before Christmas, and in those last three compartments of the advent calendar were the last pieces of a magician's kit. The long, skinny flap held a handsome wand with pearlescent tips, far better than the black pencil I'd wrapped with paper on both ends. The next compartment held a beautiful satin hat - how it fit in there I couldn't imagine, but it must've been collapsible, even if I never figured out how to fold it back down. From the last compartment I pulled a bunny with beautiful blue eyes and fur of white satin plush. I decided to call him Mr. Pibbles.
At first glance, I thought he was just an ordinary rabbit plushie, until I sat him down and he pulled his legs under him just like a real rabbit. Could Mr. Pibbles be some kind of robot? Except I never found a battery compartment or a jack to plug him in.
All Christmas break I practiced like crazy, until Mr. Pibbles and I were a team. He'd slip right into the hidden compartment in my magician's hat so I could show it was "empty," or put it on without worrying I'd end up with a plush bunny on my head. He'd even hop through the rings during the ring trick, and some other little things that made my show even cooler.
Finally the big day came. We'd found a black jacket and trousers and a white dress shirt at the thrift store, so I could look like a real magician. One of the fourth-grade room mothers had a background in theater, so she put stage makeup on me so I'd look good under the stage lights.
All the time I was waiting, I kept going over my act in my head. From backstage I could see most of the stage, and just barely see the tables set out in the gymnasium, all the people sitting at them. Each act got applause, but something about it felt forced, out of politeness or even sympathy for these kids who were trying so hard to raise money when there was so much need in town.
And then it was my turn. For a moment my stomach felt all fluttery, and I was scared I'd forget everything and make a fool of myself. Mr. Pibbles twitched his whiskers and made me smile, and the fear melted away. Once I started my patter, everything followed just as I'd practiced so many times. Before I knew it, I was finished and it was time to clear the stage for the next act. I only halfway heard the applause when I exited as the teachers directed me.
Afterward, as I was waiting for my parents to come back and pick me up, I overheard the PTA treasurer telling the principal that we'd raised over seven thousand dollars for the poor relief fund. When you're twelve years old, that's an awful lot of money, although it probably didn't go near as far as I'd imagined it would.
By the time I got home, I was so tired it was all I could do to get out of my magician's outfit and wash the stage makeup off my face before I collapsed into bed. Sleep was dark and dreamless, and I didn't wake up until the sunlight was shining right into my eyes.
As I crawled out from under the covers, I reached up to scratch Mr. Pibbles behind the ears. Except that morning he didn't twitch his whiskers or rub my hand with his nose.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I realized that my beloved magic rabbit was now just an ordinary bunny plushie. My mind raced as I tried to recall anything that I could've done wrong, that could've caused the magic to be taken away.
Mom and Dad had insisted we'd all write our thank-you notes before we got to start opening our advent calendars, so it couldn't be a punishment for ingratitude. Could there have been some kind of rules about using the tricks, like you could only use a certain one so many times each day? Except by now the box was long since thrown away, so if there was any fine print, there was no finding out now.
The next several days I spent fighting back tears. I was not going to blubber like a kindergartener. I even was careful to practice all my tricks, because I sure didn't want anyone to ask why I'd abandoned it all just like that. As I did, I could see where some of them formerly had just a little extra, but now it was gone.
I kept at it enough that I got reasonably good. By high school I was doing shows for little kids' parties, but I never quite made the jump to the big leagues. And I began to wonder if I'd been wrong to assume that the retraction of the magic was a punishment.
Looking back on that wonderful night, I'm convinced that yes, there is real magic in the world, but it comes as it will, unbidden and often un-looked-for. It cannot be commanded, nor can it be grasped and held, lest the doors be forever shut and the keys lost. But when it's truly needed, it will be there, until it's time to move on.
==========================================================================================
In addition, I've followed my usual practice of making my Christmas-themed novel The Workhouse War available for free all day on Christmas.
Another Christmas story, Lunar Christmas, is always available for free at Liberty Island.