Lessons Learned From Christmas

This post finds me in Layton, UT at the Clark home. Somehow the chaos feels like home, and we're looking forward to ringing in the New Year with a raucous party--at least until midnight (The only thing worse for New Year's than it falling on Sunday is when New Year's Eve falls on Sunday).

While I have a moment, a few comments and commentary on this past Christmas:

• The book A Christmas Carol provides an infinitely more enjoyable experience than any of the movies can provide. Dickens' playful narration is the main reason, though the movies also miss nuance (perhaps generally true of movies). For instance, in the book the Ghost of Christmas future actually shows some kinds of kindness at the end when Scrooge has seen his grave and is pleading for a 2nd chance. It changes the whole perception of the ghost that seems impossible given how the movies seem compelled to portray him (or could the Ghost be a her?).
• We never repent of having eating too little.
• Even on vacation now, my work never leaves me.
• "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe" is a fine movie. There've been some mediocre reviews, focusing apparently on the limitations of child actors and the fact that it's not The Lord of the Rings. I thought the movie a more than adequate adaptation, my only minor nitpick being that Aslan was not portrayed as being omniscient--apparently needing to question others to learn the fates of the children and others instead of questioning for the benefit of those he questions. I loved the soundtrack too.
• Those Christmas radio stations that stop abruptly the day after Christmas are a bit harsh. Especially given that most of us got that Monday off too in celebration of Christmas, at least try and ease us out of the season.
• Conversations on Christmas over the phone with family are a poor substitute for their company.
• Jared was far more excited about December 25th being his birthday than it being Christmas. He'd recently seen his mother blow out candles and thought it was the neatest thing he'd ever seen. Next year he may be more interested in Santa Clause, since he now knows that the wrapped boxes under the tree actually had toys in them.
• My parents threats to yet again cancel my Christmas after I exposed them in my last blog reveals just how little they've learned in the intervening years. For their sakes, I hope next year to find that Nintendo under my tree.
• Driving out of California takes 3 times as long as Mapquest indicates (15 mph for 2 hours out of San Bernadino County), and try to avoid Las Vegas at rush hour (again, 15 mph for 1.5 hours).
• The proffering of cheap buffets at the Casinos in Mesquite, NV is supplemented by long lines and the smell of entrenched cigarette smoke.
• Never stop in Mesquite, NV except for gas.

Now let's see if we can survive New Year's and the drive back to Irvine on Jan. 2d.

My Darkest Christmas Day

Two nights ago, Michelle, Jared, and I were sitting at the dinner table. Jared did something mildly annoying with his fork, so I jokingly announced that we might have to cancel Christmas.

Michelle's first reaction was something akin to "Oh, I hate it when parents say that!" Of course, I was only joking--having said it in large part just to get a rise out of Michelle. (And I suppose even if I did cancel Christmas it wouldn't really matter, since Jared can always rightly say back "Well, go ahead and cancel Christmas. We'll still have my birthday to celebrate.")

At any rate, that brief conversation brought to the surface a dark, dark memory that had been repressed for years. It took a moment, but when I'd composed myself I told Michelle how one year my parents had effectively cancelled my Christmas, and I think it's obvious I never recovered.

If you can, try to put yourself in the shoes of a 12 to 13 year old boy around Christmas time in the late 80s or early 90s. The Nintendo had been out a year or two, and was the latest, greatest, and only video game system worth having. Only the most spoiled of my classmates had one, though all of us spent most of our free time talking about the latest games, and spent our free thoughts wishing and pining away for a Nintendo of our own. It was the golden age of the NES with the release of Mike Tyson's Punchout (which I still play) and the Legend of Zelda. There had never been anything like it. It was awesome. And it was everything to me.

Of course, given my circumstances growing up, the thought of ever having a Nintendo in my home was nothing more than a pipe dream (how ironic that Super Mario was a plumber!). There just wasn't money for those kinds of things in my home. There wasn't money for anything.

Still, one particular Christmas season I had a paper route and big dreams of saving up the required $100. This would get me my own Nintendo Entertainment System with two controllers, a light gun, and the Super Mario Bros./Duck Hunt Game System. By early to mid December my brother Nathan and I had saved $40. We had figured that with 5 or 6 more weeks we'd have enough saved to finally have a Nintendo of our own.

But these indeed were dark days, made darker by the blackened hearts of parents intent on teaching their children what it might have been like to keep company with the Grinch or Ebeneezer Scrooge before their miraculous changes.

Let me set the scene:

My mother had made some Christmas candy. She stored some of it in a jar in the corner cupboard and had given us children explicit (and all too familiar) instructions not to touch it.

But Nathan and I were weak, and somehow our little hands found their way to the candy jar.

My parents' fury was swift and unrelenting. In their rage they decided to make known that my grandmother (whose presents were always the most expensive) had gotten us a Nintendo for Christmas. Imagine my eyes widening and a gleeful smile starting to crack at the thought. Imagine then to hear that our brief moment of indulgence had made my parents decide to instruct my grandmother to take back the Nintendo. Furthermore, the $40 we had been saving on our own was to be confiscated, and video games were not to be allowed in our home.

I was crushed and filled with wonder at the same time--the thought that I was so close to having my own Nintendo! And yet to lose it without even knowing what was at stake...and for a piece (or two) of holiday fudge! (Not surprisingly, my parents hadn't yet told me about my 8th Amendment right against cruel and unusual punishment, so I thought that there was nothing I could do). To my protests they were unyielding, to my pleas they were impervious, and to my tears their hearts were cold as stone.*

I agonized for the weeks leading up to Christmas over what I might have had and what I'd lost. I told my friends. My closest friend responded privately that my parents' reaction to our minor indiscretion was too harsh. That brought little comfort. But was it possible that a late burst of Christmas cheer might lead my parents to tell Grandma to go ahead and bring the Nintendo?

No. It wasn't. As soon as my grandparents arrived I took every opportunity to scour their car and size up the Christmas presents. Not one of them was sizeable enough to be a boxed NES. I took inventory of each and every present three times on Christmas Eve, and another 2 times on Christmas morning before everyone was up. It wasn't there. Even as we made our way through the presents on Christmas morning, I still held out hope. That false hope only brought more disappointment. There was nothing I could do. Try to sense the pathos of the dashed hopes of that young boy, still trying to figure out why snitching a piece (or two) of fudge could be so costly.

In the years that followed I slowly worked at breaking down the wall keeping video games out of our home. First I got an Atari, which was harmless by then. Then I borrowed my friends aging Nintendo for extended periods of time. Eventually I got up the courage to buy a Super Nintendo with my brother (I think I was 16 by then). This met with opposition, but I prevailed.

I would later prevail upon my wife too, but that's another story. The point here is that Christmas for me was cancelled one year, and I have never recovered (just look at me now and my video game habits)**. And the truth is, I probably never will. Some injuries just cut too deep.

Yes, yes. Merry Christmas to you too. May you and your children never be forced to suffer as I did.


*If you had any idea, too, of just how often we kids snuck into treats you'd realize it was more the exception than the rule when we didn't. In fact, it was so common it was almost expected!

**I've thought about bringing a claim against my parents for Intentional and/or Negligent Infliction of Emotion Distress, but I suspect the statute of limitations has long since run.

Ahh Christmas Traditions

Yeah, nice week for the Clarks. I was in a car accident on Monday (apparently my fault). On Tuesday I was sick enough (and Jared along with me) that I stayed home from work entirely. By Tuesday evening, Michelle felt like she was missing out and decided to get sick too. At this point, too, my mother in law and brother in law came to visit. I stayed home from work on Wednesday, and took short days yesterday and today. Michelle is still sick enough that we missed out on a Christmas boat parade (in lieu of a street parade--or even decorating houses--there's a segment of the population here that deck out their yachts and parade them around for Christmas).

Ahh, but why complain--especially with Santa watching. It's Christmas time, and the Spirit of the Season is more than sufficient to swallow up my troubles.

With Christmas Day now just over a week away, I've been wanting to share what Christmas traditions Michelle and I keep. See how you stack up.

• Making and Eating Gingerbread/Sugar Cookie Houses: I think this started when I was in first grade or so. The Bryant's came by on Christmas Eve in Mohawk, NY. Their boys gave me their old toy matchbox trucks (which I thought were terrific) and we mowed down a sugar cookie house either my Mom had decorated or that the Bryants brought. Few things are quite as delightful as ripping apart a candy laden sugar cookie house on Christmas Eve, and eating a big hunk of wall or part of a roof with a nice glass of milk. Of course, now my family has turned it into a family contest (everything has to be a contest with the Clarks or we lose interest) but this tradition has remained solid through the years.
• Reading a Christmas Carol: This is a relatively new tradition. I remember at one First Presidency Christmas Devotional on my mission President Monson mentioned that he reads A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, every year. That seemed like a good idea, so when Michelle and I got married we decided to do the same. We usually start on December 1, and read about 5 pages a night, getting us easily through the book by Christmas. This perhaps is the only tradition of ours that would give any hint of refinement.
• Posole and Subs on Christmas Eve: My parents raised us on the tradition of Onion Soup and sub sandwiches on Christmas Eve, the latter I think being established in my lifetime (though I bet I only ever actually tasted the onion soup once or twice). Posole, hearty Mexican soup with shredded pork roast and hominy, was a Christmas time tradition in Michelle's home--so combining it with Subs on Christmas Eve has given us the best of both worlds.
• The Airing of Grievances: At the Christmas Eve dinner table we all sit around and talk about the problems and annoying things we've found in those present. (Oh wait, that's Festivus).
• Christmas Eve Program: As long as I can remember, on Christmas Eve my Dad put together a brief program of scripture reading and carol singing, not unlike many Christmas Programs, that ended with us singing "Silent Night" and kneeling in prayer. We've kept it in our home, even when it was just the two of us.
• Announcing Pregnancies/Giving Birth: We found out on Christmas Eve 1994 (during the Christmas Program) that my little brother Peter would be joining us. The news came as quite a surprise (since I was 16 and the Tripletts were 6). It was actually quite a solemn moment for me. In 2002, Michelle and I thought we'd follow that up with news of our own, announcing Michelle's pregnancy with a miniature stocking labeled "Baby" following the Christmas Eve program.* The next year we followed that up with Michelle laboring with Jared all through Christmas Eve and into the morning on Christmas Day. For Christmas Eve 2004 (last year), Nathan and Nichole (my brother and sister in law) let their daughter open some pajamas with words across the chest "Big Sister." We might have done the same this year, but people probably would've been suspecting it, which ruins 80% of the fun for me.
• Up EARLY!: The funny thing about the Clark house is that my Dad is often the first one up. He's an early morning person to begin with, but Christmas morning just makes him giddy and anxious. Don't be surprised then, if you're walking by our house at 3:30am or 4:00am Christmas morning and find him stirring about with Christmas music on, probably the George C. Scott version of a A Christmas Carol on TV, and generally stewing and poking the presents. It's unheard of in our home to sleep past 6am on Christmas morning, and if anyone tries (including those newly wedded to the family) a brigade of Children are usually marshalled by my father to pester the recalcitrant family member until sleep is impossible. This is facilitated in part by the fact that no one is allowed to open their stockings or any presents until everyone is up. Always good times.
• Wearing Santa Hats to Open Presents: A recent tradition that helps hide my "bed head" from photos.
• One Gift at a Time: Maybe it was because there weren't that many gifts going around in the early days, but in my home it's always been the rule that someone hands out the presents under the tree, and then they're opened one at a time so everyone can see and everyone can "Oooh" and "Aaah." It also gives each gift its own special moment. In a family of 9 kids, with a father who always gets too much for everyone, this means that present opening can last for HOURS. Certain of our grandparents have fallen asleep during the middle of it. A few times we've even taken breaks to eat breakfast before resuming.
• Aaron overspending on Christmas Presents for Michelle: Each year Michelle and I set a budget on how much to spend on each other for Christmas presents, and each year I summarily take liberties to spend well in excess. I feel no shame in this.
• Cinnamon Rolls and Farmer's Breakfast: Breakfast on Christmas morning is usually far more elaborate than it need be, since our bellies our usually half full with Candy or Christmas Eve leftovers by then already, but a few Cinammon rolls and some Farmer's Breakfast (Eggs mixed with just about everything--ham, eggs, cheese, peppers, mushrooms, potatoes). It's always delightful.
• At Least One viewing of A Christmas Story during the marathon: I think this one came entirely from Michelle, though I'm not opposed (I'm not sure I'd even seen it all the way through until we were married). We even managed to keep this tradition while Michelle was in labor--that is, before she and the doula decided she was in too much pain for me to be able watch any more TV. Yes, I'm still ticked about that.

Hopefully you have Christmas traditions that you're equally fond of.
*Only days later, Michelle miscarried. That made things rough for awhile, and awkward.

My First Court Appearance

Friday evening, a partner called me at home and asked me to show up for him in the Central District Court in LA today. It was for a status conference.

I made my way there this morning without a hitch, though it took me 45 minutes to find parking four blocks away.

The key to making a court appearance, which I learned by chance at the Christmas party Friday night, is to bring a business card with the party (parties) you represent written on the back.

I never let on to opposing counsel it was my first appearance, though I wonder if it wasn't already obvious. The judge let me say all of two words, but ended up agreeing with me anyway the more opposing counsel kept talking.

On the way home I was so happy that I decided to get into a car accident. Stop and Go Traffic Southbound on the 5, I glanced over at a big right pulled over on the right, only to look back and find there wasn't enough room between me and the lights in front of me to stop. I imagine I was going 10-15 miles an hour. The other guy came out holding his neck gingerly. We exchanged information, I resisted the urge to apologize, and we waited nearly an hour for the CHP to arrive.

They never did. A local policeman came by, inquired as to whether any of us needed medical attention, and then told us we could leave if we wanted since no one was hurt.

I've spent the rest of the day feeling like an idiot. (Resist the urge to make a wise crack about that not being uncommon and you've got a friend for life).

Brett's Funeral

Brett Stern's Funeral was this morning, and I got to usher for it.

I had thought I was done shedding tears, but it was hard to hold them back when I saw pictures of Brett, Hillary, and Avery together. The same was true when Hillary gave the Eulogy. I thought at times that I wouldn't mind if I had a thousand more tears to shed since it did not seem wrong to cry.

Brett's funeral helped me understand better the friend I was just getting to know. I couldn't help but be envious of some of the character traits others described seeing in him and feeling from him. It occured to me that that aspirational feeling was a good thing at someone's funeral.

Gratefully, I have been given more time to work on my own character. I hope I do not waste it.

The Day After

Brett died yesterday in the morning, and I suspect his organs have been put to good use. Sunday at the ward prayer meeting his wife, Hillary, somehow found the strength to get up to the pulpit and address everyone. At that point, Brett was pretty much brain dead, though apparently they had to wait for the brain activity to stop completely. While on the stand, Hillary mentioned that she and Brett had talked with each only a week before, on Thanksgiving, about what each wanted done if they were on life support. Brett told her he wanted his organs donated, and Hillary noted then on the stand that she took comfort in the thought that Brett's organs would make it possible so others wouldn't have to go through what she was going through.

Tears have come much less frequently the past two days, if at all today. Still, I don't think they've been in my thoughts any less. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not, but Brett's death and the aftermath are becoming more "normal" to me, so it's been easily to deal it and yet also deal with other things.

Not all is resolved though. Tomorrow morning from 6am to 7am I will stand on one of the corners of Culver and Michelson holding a sign asking for any witnesses of the accident to contact the police. From reports, no witnesses beyond the other driver have come forward. He has offered a statement that Brett ran the red light, though the accident investigator has found some inconsistencies in the man's story. Right now it's the only story, though, since Brett never got a chance to give his version.

So, in a desparate attempt to get anyone to come forward, the Elder's Quorum has been marshalling people to stand at the interesection where the accident occured this week, from 6am to 7am each morning, holding signs asking for witnesses to step forward. Obviously, the chances of success aren't very high, but we're not necessarily doing it so we can succeed.

For the moment it's all we can think to do for the Sterns, and the effectiveness of the service we're able to render doesn't seem so important as the fact that at least we're able to do something. So many people have come forward to fill all the gaps that most of us have been left on the sidelines with our hands in our pockets. We want to help. We just don't know how. That's why I'm standing on the corner tomorrow morning.

Hard Words

We are losing a friend we were just starting to know. Brett's wife has been posting news here. He came out of his emergency surgery two nights ago with no brain activity. He is on life support and his wife is now just waiting for his brain to stop functioning so that his organs may be donated.

Michelle and I, and our entire ward, spent the Sabbath yesterday fasting and praying and grieving. It has almost been more than we can bear to think of Hillary and Avery now continuing through life with him who is their father and husband, and perhaps it is mostly for this reason that our tears are so heavy and so frequent. We will sorely miss the chance, though, too, to have enriched our friendship with him and gotten to know better of the goodness so readily apparent to everyone who knew him. As someone mentioned yesterday in our ward prayer, we know of God's plan of happiness, but sometimes it doesn't seem so happy. We exhausted ourselves last night in our grief, but I awoke this morning only to find it still with me. New thoughts or angles on the situtation seem to bring fresh pain, and I can find little comfort in it now.

The Bishop paid loving tribute to him yesterday in Fast and Testimony meeting, telling us that all he need ever say to anyone when he speaks of Brett would be to paraphrase slightly Alma 48:17:

"Yea, verily, verily, I say unto you, if all men had been, and were, and ever would be, like unto Brett Stern, behold, the very powers of hell would have been shaken forever; yea, the devil would never have power over the hearts of the children of men."

I cannot think of a better tribute that might be paid any man than has been paid to him. I am stirred by this thought, grateful that I knew him, and hopeful that when my turn comes my readiness might approach his.

Conflicted Saturday Night

No sooner did I post about the Honeymoon with my firm being over, but that I got assigned to a project which I've spent 23 hours working on in the last two days. At least these hours count toward a billable requirement and potential bonus. Still, I wish I could've spent more (meaning "any") of my waking hours today at home.

My thoughts are only marginally on my work, though. Instead, we got a message relayed from the Bishop this evening that our friend Bret Stern, whom I had mentioned in my last post, is fighting for his life tonight at a nearby hospital. As mentioned before, he was in a serious car accident Wednesday morning on his way to work that caused serious head trauma. He's been in an induced coma ever since and on breathing support. Today, apparently, the swelling in his brain got dangerous enough that doctors had to perform an emergency operation to relieve it. He is now apparently hour to hour. The Bishop had asked previously that we fast this Sunday for Bret and has family, and in this latest message asked that we begin immediately if we had not already done so.

I got this latest news while at work, and gratefully I was the only one in the office because I could not hold back tears. I do not want to think of the consequences of Bret's death on his family, and what that might mean for his wife and child, yet I find I cannot help but to think of them. I started to realize at the office that my fervent prayers for Bret to recover, hoping it might be the Lord's will, were based far more on my worries and fears for his wife and child than for him. These are the kinds of situations we never think to hard about, both because they seem to0 remote and too frightening a possibility. And yet they came swiftly and without warning the Stern family and it cannot be undone and they face terrible possibilities.

With this tragedy so close to us, it has certainly dampened our holiday spirits and desire to drink in the elements of the Season. Of course, I'm still sitting in front of our decorated, lighted (and fake) tree, and some select Christmas CDs viritually carried me through the workday at the office, but I can hardly find reason to be merry when I know our friends cannot be now. When I do feel inclinations to merriment, guilt sets in and I feel as though I have no business being upbeat when those so close to us must wade through anguish, tears, and desperate waiting. I am much more contented in these times to be solemn, perhaps because it makes me feel that in some measure I am contrinbuting and showing my caring for them by reserving my thoughts to worry about their situation.

To what extent my inclinations are proper I can't exactly say, though I know we covenant to "Mourn with those that more, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort." I guess that's why I was suprised the other evening when another friend of mine found my inclinations to be entirely foreign to him.

Some reassurance came tonight when Michelle, unsolicited told me she'd been struggling with similar feelings. We do feel a distinct obligation to reserve our joy until our friends might also be merry. And think too we're anxious to be able to represent to them (and also likely to ourselves) that we have not forgotten them or their situation. Our minds (at least Michelle's and mine) just seem programmed that way.

The Honeymoon is Over

December 1st was an important day in several respects.* For one, it signaled the beginning of the firm's new billing year, meaning that I'm now responsibile for meeting the firms yearly billing requirements--1950 hours. Up until now, I haven't really had any targets to hit, just some vague level of acceptability. That was nice while it lasted.

This morning I was already feeling pressure wondering how easily I'll be able to meet with what's required of me at work and home and church. I'm not feeling so stressed this evening, but I sense that the terrible billable hour will always be looming somewhere in my consciousness. We'll see how well I'm able to live with that.

Also today, though, I was sworn in before the California State bar, and also admitted to practice before the Central District Court. Michelle and Jared came to the ceremony, held at the Hyatt in Orange. A few attorneys spoke begging us to join the various bar associations. A few appellate judges spoke on lofty topics that no one would remember 15 minutes following. As our names were read, we stood and then collectively took an oath whereby we swore to uphold the Constitution of the United States and the State of California and to be zealous and just advocates for our clients. It was actually a nice moment, and I'm glad I took the time out of my day (getting me behind already in my billables) to attend.

Now that I'm sworn in, I can sign my name to court documents and make court appearances. I can also now get sued for malpratice.

All in all an eventful day. Someday hopefully I'll get into a routine I'm comfortable with.


* I wasn't sure where to mention this, didn't think it was appropriate to post on by itself, but wanted to mention that a friend of ours in our ward was in a serious car accident yesterday that has caused serious trauma to his brain. He's in an induced coma now and for the next few weeks as they try to let the brain swell and heal. We will not know until then what kind of damage has been done. Bret is not much older than I am with a sweet wife and daughter a little older than Jared. Just about all car accidents are sudden and unexpected, though this one has rended our heart strings. We've had them over, and even ate dinner with them on Halloween before taking our kids trick-or-treating together (and I've coveted his HUMONGOUS TV since I first laid eyes on it). Our thoughts and prayers are with Brett and his family.