A Christmas Tale

A child teaches us the true meaning of Christmas.

A Christmas Tale

            

Sparkling lights, carol singers, cinnamon sugar in the air. Who can deny the magic of Christmas? Unpretentious joy filling the air. The willingness to give without asking for anything in return.  Even the most skeptical and crabby adult couldn’t help but to be overwhelmed with the power of transformation of a Christmas Eve. Inside the fancy house, lights ablaze, doors ajar to welcome family and friends, nothing could touch them: the world had been healed, the pain lessened, the sorrow soothed.

The nativity scene sitting on the wooden chest didn’t make the snowman feel any better. The miracle of birth didn’t stop the silent cry of the snowman. Year after year he sat on the foot of the Christmas tree trying to survive the warm evening. Lost. The lights went on and off, Santa and his helpers working at full speed, the smell of food invading his carrot nose, the cat scratching his felt body. He didn’t belong there, no matter how hard he tried. Tropical weather didn’t suit his nature, but what would that nature be anyway? The tag on his hat said ‘made in China’, a distant land he didn’t relate to. Does it snow in China?

The stereo played “I’ll be home for Christmas; you can plan on me…” Home, he wondered what that would be like. All he could remember were the long hours in a dark box shaking on board a ship and then, sitting at the foot of the tree, an easy target for the cat.

This year he had seen the decoration boxes being moved around, but something had changed. He had been taken out of the box and thrown to the side. At first, relief filled his heart, he would be spared the pain of being crammed together with the other pieces but, as the days passed, he noticed he wouldn’t go out of that room at all. He now laid on the corner of the basement: useless… dusty… forgotten. He had fulfilled his purpose; he had posed for years at the foot of the tree. But now, stained, dusty and right eye missing, he was doomed to stay there in the hope of being rediscovered. How would that be possible? Every year new shipments from that distant land called China brought the latest trends: singing Santas, ice skating dolls, moving nativity scenes and even snowmen dressed in swimsuits, a quite ironic impersonation of his own self.

A ray of light entered the storage room in the basement: hope, at last. A white puppy dog entered the room and, as if sensing danger, the poor snowman closed his left eye. The slobbery sensation was nauseating. He prayed not to be chewed to pieces. He would never complain about the moldy basement again, even if he had to spend his last years decaying on that corner. The dog yanked his wool hat off his head, his last remaining sign of dignity, and ran outside to half-burry his wet body in the mud.

A homeless man and a child had been watching the dog and waiting patiently for him to leave.

What are you looking at? Are you here to mock me on my last breath? Let me die with dignity!

The boy then kneeled on the mud and took the snowman in his small hands, turning to the elder man:

“Can I keep him grandpa?”

The man had seen the light in those eyes go off many times and, in that evening, he was determined not to let it go off again: “I guess so. We could wash it off and…”

By the time the old man finished the sentence, the boy was already skipping through the park hugging the snowman.

At the park there were other boys waiting for them, each with a different surprise: a piece of turkey, some fruit, a loaf of sweet bread, some milk, a box of cookies and even some canned soup. They sat around the fire under a large tree, laid it carefully by the tree and said their prayers. And there, at the foot of the tree, surrounded by the innocent eyes of those children, the snowman fulfilled his noble duty once again, only this time he was proud to do so.