Michael D. Davis

For my family, Christmas, like everything else, never goes perfectly. It’s never that Disney cartoon version. It’s more like Scooby Doo. Velma and Daphne are in the kitchen. Fred is watching TV. Shaggy is eating everything in sight. The dog is on the couch. Then someone drops dead.

It used to be a tradition that every year on Christmas Eve, we would all get in our best bib and tucker and head on to church. Not that we didn’t attend a few other times throughout the year. But ya know, Christmas is one of those cliche holidays where everybody and their Uncle Marvin putt putt over to the church because they think they have to. You sit there pointing out the church ladies’ drooling grandsons all while picking at your fingernails until you all grab a candle and act like you remember the words to “Silent Night.”

Every year we went, I got burnt by the melting candle wax dripping onto my hand, every year. Those flimsy paper wax guards did nothing!

One year, and this was a long while ago, we went, and I decided to wear my Santa hat. Now, the church we went to had a consistent problem with bats. This year was worse than ever.

So, I was sitting there with my family. Minding my own business. Trying not to think of the winged rats that loomed above. I don’t know in what fashion I moved my head, but the ball of the Santa hat moved and tapped the side of my head. My mind immediately went BAT!!!!!! So I screamed…. in the middle of the Christmas Eve church service. Well, technically I didn’t just scream. I swore. I screamed a swear word at the top of my lungs… in the middle of the Christmas Eve church service. My Ma brings it up every year.

My Ma is a good gift-giver, but she’s unorganized. For example, yesterday she organized all the presents she bought. Today, she found another box of presents that she had hidden so well, she had forgot she even bought them.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Once, back when K-mart was a thing, I found a hat I really wanted. My Ma told me I could have it, but as a present at Christmas, two months away. I said fine. Christmas comes, no hat. My Ma had hid the hat so well she lost it. Two years later, the thing turned up in a random box. It was a hell of a wait.

My Ma also gives a present on Christmas Eve. She does so in these oversized gift bags. My Ma, the thrifty person she is, has reused those gift bags for the last twenty years. The top inch of the gift bag is filled with years and years of old torn tape and staples. This year, she hasn’t been able to find them, though. And she refuses to buy new, they cost too much, she says. I fear if she doesn’t locate them soon, a trash bag will be getting a bow.

Speaking of presents, we changed things up a few years back. It used to be that everyone had to contain their present lust until after dinner, having only stocking stuffers to sustain them. But then Ma got an idea. She wanted to make it last all day. So, now, she gets a timer from the kitchen, and every hour, everyone gets to open one present. Then the timer gets reset. And, I’m not saying I’ve done it. I’m not even saying I’ve thought about it. But, ya know, there are ways to speed those things up.

Alright, talk to ya next week.

Have a Merry Christmas!