Christmas

Ben rolled his eyes as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. His robe was too hot, and the sheet he was forced to wear on his head was too tight. As you can probably guess, Ben was in the Christmas play for his Sunday school. As a sixth-grader, he had been in it for the past seven years, and was absolutely sick of it! He was so ready to be in the youth group next year. “Shepherds, you are in the wrong spot—again,” the distant voice of the play director droned. “Ben! Get with them. As the eldest, you should be responsible in getting the others to the correct place. I’m ashamed of you!” Ben jolted out of his daze at his name, but he tuned the rest of the reprimand out. The director seemed to be waiting for him to apologize. When he made no effort to do so, she went on. Wh000000, Ben thought to himself, survived another one. This happened every practice. Old Mrs. Bruster, though he preferred calling her The Brute, would pick on him. “Don’t do that” and “Benjamin, get with it.” “Haven’t you been practicing?” It was all “Yadda, yadda, yadda!” He dreaded that two hours every Saturday. “Shepherds, you are in the wrong spot—again” Ben heard his cue, “So the shepherds left their flocks . . .” He and the other two kids in rags dragged their feet to the cardboard box to stare at the plastic baby doll. He never got that part. Poor shepherds would leave their sheep, with no one to watch them, to see a baby. Big whoop! To him, it would not be worth the risk. Ben glanced at the clock, relieved to see that it was almost time to go. *          *          * Ben marked the calendar. One week until Christmas, which meant five days till his birthday! He called some of his friends to make last-minute arrangements for his party on his birthday. After that, he helped his mom make the cake. Their next-door neighbor was a good friend of Ben’s, whom he often visited. That sunny afternoon he ran over to pay the old man a visit. Ben waited for a long time after knocking before the door creaked open. “Oh, hi, Ben. Come in out of the cold.” “Thank you, Mister Jack. I was concerned that you were hurt, when you didn’t answer,” Ben said gently. “Oh. I’m fine. It’s just the cold; it gets into my bones. Slows me down a little. Enough about me, how’s the play coming?” With a roll of his eyes, Ben made sure that his old friend was coming to see it. “Now don’t you roll your eyes. It is a very important happening and story. You know, without the shepherds, who would know what had happened.” It was more of a statement than question, so Ben just shrugged. “One day I’ll find a way to make you believe me.” Jack had no way of knowing how soon that would be. An hour later, Ben left the old man in happy spirits. When he got home, his mom wanted know how it went. “Just fine. We looked around his attic while he told me stories from the war.” He sampled the leftover frosting. Satisfied, he went outside to go sledding. *          *          * It was ten o’clock. Ben lay awake thinking about his birthday party the next day. He jumped at the sound of the phone. His mother’s muffled words, then steps, reached his ears. She stuck her head into his room. “Hey, buddy, you awake?” she whispered. He lay still, pretending to be sleeping. But curiosity finally overcame him. He turned toward her expectantly. She came closer and sat on the edge of his bed. “That was the hospital.” Ben sat up straight in the bed. “Jack slipped in his driveway a few hours ago. He has a broken rib and arm.” The boy was shocked into silence. His mother gently said, “And he wants you to visit him.” The first thing that went through Ben’s mind was his party. On the other hand, if ol’ Jack died in the hospital, he could never forgive himself. “It is important that I go, for Jack’s sake. Tomorrow I’ll call everyone to rearrange the party for after Christmas.” “I’m glad to hear you say that. Good night.” Ben lay awake a little while longer. Oh well, the hospital could be an adventure after all, he thought. *          *          * “Happy birthday, Ben!” came the frail voice of the shriveled lump in the hospital bed. Ben gulped at the form of his pal. “Come over here so I can get a look at my favorite boy.” He slid beside the bed and put a fake smile on. The smile quickly melted when Jack had a coughing spell for some time. A nurse rushed in to do whatever they do to stop coughs. Ben thought she stuffed a cork down Jack’s throat, but he couldn’t be sure. He and Jack talked and laughed, and coughed. They walked down to the cafeteria, just to do something other than sit. After resting and eating in the room they went to the gift shop. There, Jack bought Ben a birthday balloon, while Ben got Jack a get-well balloon. He also bought the old man a rubber-band gun to shoot at the balloon to pass the time. Back in the room they tried it out. They were having a great time when the nurse came in without knocking. She poked her head in just as her elderly patient pulled the trigger of the rubber-band gun. The two chums held their breath as the oblivious nurse was snapped in the forehead with the band. Her eyes flew open wide when she saw it coming; when it hit her she fell backwards on the floor. Ben and Jack crowded over her till her eyes fluttered open. “I will be right back to help you, sir,”

Holiday decorations on Summer Street always got a little out of hand. If a two-hundred-foot inflatable Santa was put up one day, you better believe that there would be a three-hundred-foot menorah the next day. Smoke machines were brought out, mechanical masterpieces were set up (Mr. Johanson had moving reindeer that made actual noises and flashed red lights from Rudolph’s nose), and amazing designs were painstakingly created using lights. Even the Galdans, a family not that into the holidays, draped tinsel over their whole house, yard, and car and set up a radio that blasted Christmas songs twenty-four seven. The only house that was left out of this tradition was the Abbotts’. As Mr. Abbott believed that the holidays should be about being with your family and not setting up decorations (really he was just afraid of heights and worried that he would be forced to climb something) and Mrs. Abbott said that the whole idea was crazy, their comfy old house was left bare each year. The children decided they had to do something to amuse themselves, and so the Annual Holiday Summer Street Showdown was created. It was a fake competition where each house was judged on three criteria, and the house with the highest number of points won. The first criterion was Uniqueness (how special and different it was from the rest), the second was Impressiveness (its astoundingness; how shocking it was), and the third was Work (how much work was put into making it). The whole street was bedazzled with colors and sparkles and bright lights The Showdown started on the same day each year, December first, and submissions could be entered up until the twentieth. But one year, it almost was at risk for being shut down. The story begins on December eleventh, when most of the houses were finalizing their decorations. “Ooh, look, Ms. Lethern has made spinning dreidels!” said thirteen-year-old Dove, pointing her bejeweled finger out the window (note: Dove is a firm believer in fairies and has dreamcatchers lined around her windows). “I would rate it a seven out of ten on the Impressiveness scale. Pretty good, but I think we know she can do better,” said nine-year-old Oliver. He quickly scribbled down on his clipboard the score on the already almost filled to the brim chart. His light brown waves (that all the Abbotts had) were spiked up in the air in an almost Mohawk sort of way, as when he was concentrating he had a habit of running his fingers through his hair. “Look at Liam’s house, look at Liam’s house!” said four-year-old Daisy. She clutched onto her teddy bear named Mr. Fluffy and jumped up and down in front of the window to get a better view. Liam was one of the many crushes that Daisy had been obsessed with over the years, and Mr. Abbott said that at this rate, she would get married at ten years old (the children didn’t know if he was joking or not). “Oh, don’t worry, Daisy Crown,” said beaming Dove, kissing Daisy on the cheek, “I shall tell you what Liam’s house looks like. Ooh! The whole place is bedecked with lights—even the car!” “Let me see, let me see!” squealed Daisy. “I got it,” said twelve-year-old Aubrey, who perhaps was the normal one of the family. She hoisted Daisy overhead, and they peeked out of the window. The whole street was bedazzled with colors and sparkles and bright lights. Daisy went quite still after she spotted Liam’s house, and she stared at it with her blue eyes wide, as if trying to capture it in a photograph. “Who’s in the lead so far?” asked Aubrey, nudging Oliver’s shoulder to see his calculations. “Mr. Zhang is,” Oliver announced. “He has a forty-foot-tall Christmas tree with flashing silver lights, a fake Santa and Rudolph climbing into his chimney, and a stand where people can donate presents to kids without them.” “Oh, the kind man,” said Dove, holding her hand to her heart. “Yeah,” said Oliver, “but guess who’s creeping up after him? Mrs. Aldrich! She has the lights that spell out Happy Hanukkah, a thirty-foot flickering menorah, and a basket with chocolate coins and dreidels that neighbors can take to play with!” “I want chocolate,” said Daisy in a dreamy sort of way, and she stared wistfully at the house outside. “Looks like she’s found another love,” said Aubrey, rolling her eyes. “Well, to be honest, chocolate is everyone’s love,” said Dove. They spent a few more minutes gazing outside at the holiday decorations (“I bet that Ms. Whitaker will have the most points! Shake on it now; whoever wins gets a dollar,” said Oliver to Aubrey) before Mrs. Abbott sent them to bed, as there was school the next day. Aubrey settled into her warm sheets, her long hair braided tightly so that it was not messy at all in the morning, and she sighed peacefully. Her hazel eyes slipped shut, with images of snowmen and dreidels and lights flashing in her mind. *          *          * “So, I suspect your house will be blank this year?” said Aubrey’s friend Melissa Galdan as they walked to school. “Yeah, my parents don’t really want to decorate it,” said Aubrey. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she walked, watching her hand-me-down rain boots from Dove splash into the puddles. The odd mixture of dirty water and bright floral print was a mesmerizing mix, and she found it quite fun to see. “Well, why don’t you guys do it yourselves? Dove’s thirteen now, she can make sure that you guys are safe doing it. And you know, I feel really bad, because everyone else’s houses have decorations except your guys’, and it isn’t right that your parents are keeping you from doing it. I always feel a little guilty whenever people talk about it to me ’cause I know that you’re not doing it. And some people at school say you’re

It was Christmas Eve, and everything was ready. Presents had been purchased with great care months before. Yesterday they had been wrapped in dozens of pretty papers and decorated with beautiful bows. Now they sat like sparkling jewels in a pirate’s treasure chest, under the fragrant boughs of a giant spruce. The farmhouse was filled with tinsel and holly and light. The dining room table was covered with a white tablecloth, and red and green candles stood in silver candle holders waiting to be lit. Golden streams of light poured down from the dining room chandelier onto plates heaped high with frosted cookies in the shapes of snowmen and reindeer and elves. Soon these plates would need to be moved to make way for the huge Christmas Eve feast that was almost ready. From the kitchen came the smells of cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla, and of a golden brown turkey almost too big for the oven. On the stove, every burner was in use. Steam was pouring out from underneath the lids on various pots, fogging up the windows in the farmhouse kitchen. The sink was filled with pots and pans and utensils, and the counters were happily cluttered. As the mother worked, chopping, stirring, and checking the pots, she sang along with the Christmas carols coming from the nearby radio. Suddenly the door to the outside burst open and happy voices filled the air. Having finished their evening chores, the children rushed into the house, each trying to be the first to reach the Christmas cookies in the dining room. Max, thinking himself too old for such childish behavior at twelve, slowly removed his shoes and walked seriously into the kitchen. He called out to his younger sisters, “You leave those cookies alone! You’ll all spoil your appetites for supper!” His mother grinned. “A white Christmas,” she said happily. “It’s been a longtime since we’ve had one of those” “Now you sound like me,” she said. “Before I know it, you’ll be taking over my kitchen and doing the cooking as well.” “Not a chance,” replied Max. “You are the only person in the world who can make dinner smell this good.” He inhaled deeply. “Did you know that it’s starting to snow out there?” he asked. “There’s already almost two inches on the ground.” A broad smile lit his mother’s face and her brown eyes twinkled. “A white Christmas,” she said happily. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had one of those. Have you and your sisters finished your chores?” Max nodded. “Great,” his mom replied, “Now where’s your father?” “He’s still out in the back pasture,” Max answered. “I think he’s…” But before he could finish, the door to the outside once again blew open. Into the kitchen came Max’s dad, his hair wet, his clothes rumpled, and a grim look on his face. “Molly!” he called to Max’s mother. “Call the vet! That cow with the white face is having trouble calving. She’s been trying since early this morning, and I went out just now thinking she’d have a nice calf on the ground. But she’s made no progress since I last saw her. I’m not even sure that the calf’s still alive but we’ve got to do something.” “OK, Frank,” said his wife, “I’ll call the vet and be right out to help.” “Dress warmly” said her husband, “it’s only twenty degrees out there and the temperature’s dropping fast.” As he left the kitchen, his wife called to the children. “Max,” she said, “I’m going out to help your father. I’ll need you to finish dinner and feed the girls. Turning to her younger children she said, “Now, no Christmas cookies until you’re done with dinner. Max is in charge and you’d better listen to him. I want you all in bed early so Santa can come. Understand?” Three little heads nodded agreement. “Yes, Mom,” they said. But as she turned around, Max was already pulling on his boots. “Let me go out instead,” he said. “You’re still getting over your cold, and I’m not really great in the kitchen. Besides, the little kids are way too excited to want to listen to me tonight.” His mother smiled. “You’re right, of course, but dress warmly. You don’t want to get sick either.” As Max struggled into layers of warm clothing, his mother called the vet. Max headed out the door, still shrugging into his coat. Outside, it was bitterly cold. The falling snow swirled around his head. Steam rose from his nose and mouth as he breathed out warmed air into the frigid night. This was not good calving weather. The baby, if it was still alive, was liable to freeze to death before morning. The cow giving birth to him was the worst mother on the farm. She usually abandoned her calves, refusing to take care of them or even let them nurse. Now here she was having her calf in the middle of a blizzard. It was crazy. The sight that greeted them was not a pretty one As Max crossed the front yard, he heard the roar of an engine and looked up to see headlights coming up the driveway, illuminating the falling snow. The vet had made it in record time. Max walked over to meet him, and together they drove out into the back pasture to find his father. The sight that greeted them was not a pretty one. Max’s father held one end of a rope, and the cow was on the other. The center of the rope was wrapped around a tree trunk, and his dad was trying to pull the cow up close so that she couldn’t move around as much. Although she looked exhausted, the cow had the fiery glint of rage in her eyes. Her sides heaved and sweat steamed off of her. She thrashed and kicked and struggled, trying to break free of the rope. “Hey Frank,” said the veterinarian, climbing out