Get in the Spirit
I only get to visit Earth a few weeks a year, so I make the most of my time. I do the big things of course: Macy’s Day Parade, lighting of the tree at Rockefeller Center, Hyde Parks Winter Wonderland. One year I helped convince a miser to change his ways. But my favorite part is the little destinations. That’s where I was today.
There was an elementary class visiting a nursing home. The kids all sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Then they walked around and delivered handmade cards with reindeer whose antlers were made by tracing their little hands.
Most of the residents were tickled to see the kids. Frank Vincent stayed locked in his room. He had no interest in looking at youth he would no longer have again. His own kids rarely brought the grandkids to visit him, he didn’t need to see other kids. Everyone here was waiting to die, parading a bunch of singing kids didn’t change that.
I knocked on his door carrying a tray of gingerbread cookies. He refused to take one but when I sat in the chair beside his bed instead of leaving, I noticed him eyeing the plate.
“Can’t smell gingerbread without thinking about Christmas,” I said. I picked up a cookie and bit off its head.
He grunted.
“They’re the best cookie,” I tried again.
“My mother made them every year.”
“It’d be a shame to let them go to waste.” I held out the plate.
His hand hovered over the plate before he took a cookie and nibbled. “They taste just like my mother’s. She always let my brother and I help, even though we did more helping than eating.”
We kept eating. With each cookie he told me another story about the magic of his childhood Christmases, then the Christmas he proposed to his wife, and later stayed up late to put together toys for the kids.
When there was nothing, but crumbs left, I got up to leave.
“Wait. I don’t even know your name. Who are you?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m the spirit of Christmas.”
I faded and went to my next stop.
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