My Favorite Christmas Memory

   All right, so my favorite Christmas memory is not all cheerfulness and light. Deal, okay?

   So, Christmas 2004. One of the few white Christmases I've had since I moved here in '99; the first white Christmas I had ever experienced, in fact. It was fantastic: childhood bliss, it was. I recall, rather clearly, the sense of wonder when I awoke that morning and saw a layer of white on the ground, and, of course, rushed to wake Mom up so we could open presents. Just Mom, though.

   See, Dad was in Kuwait.

   Dad had deployed earlier that year (August? September?) with his Army Reserve unit. Now, it was not the first time we had to deal with Dad being away; throughout our childhood on Bolling AFB south of DC he had been attached to White House Communications. This meant that he went wherever the president (ol' Billy Boy; he's got a framed, signed photo); he was often away from home. We had not had to cope with four months of his absence, much less the full nine he would end up being deployed for.

   Consequently, it was pretty lame being without him for Christmas. Despite the snow, it was gloomy. Mom got us out of the house for most of the day; Olivia and I went to go sledding and play with friends.

   Presents were pretty good that year (Mega Bloks battleship? Hell yeah!) and dad managed to send some cool-as-hell stuff from the desert. I got a keffiyeh and agal and prayer beads and Olivia got some, uh, other cool stuff. Dolls, if I remember correctly.

   What made it my favorite? Dad managed to call that evening to wish us merry Christmas. I was dead-set against crying and I did anyway. That little moment turned the holiday around; I went to bed happy that night.