"A Christmas of Miracles"

Dad, Matt, Leanne, and Alisha -- Christmas 1988

A few weeks ago, we watched 8-Bit Christmas. A clear homage to both A Christmas Story and The Princess Bride, the movie features Neil Patrick Harris’s character recounting to his daughter the story of a Christmas in the late 1980s when all he wanted was a Nintendo Entertainment System.

Beyond the 80’s nostalgia, part of the fun of the movie was how close to home it hit. Ages ago, I wrote my own story about the Christmas I desperately wanted a Nintendo but was stymied by my parents. The similarities between those stories prodded me to revisit that old post, and my curiosity eventually led me to take a closer look at what was going on back then.

 

What I found surprised me.   

The Nintendo Entertainment System

 

First, there is the story that made up that initial post – though now with a bit less tongue-in-cheek hyperbole:

 

In December 1988, I was ten years old and in Mrs. Stefalano’s fifth grade class. I wanted a Nintendo Entertainment System more than anything else in this world. A few school friends I knew already had one, and I prized every opportunity to get my hands on one of those rectangular controllers.

 

I’m sure I had other interests back then, but mostly I just thought and talked about Super Mario, the Legend of Zelda, Mike Tyson’s Punchout, and how much I wanted (needed, really) a Nintendo of my own.

 

By that point, I no longer believed in Santa (another story entirely), so I had no illusions that he could be of any help. And I knew my parents couldn’t afford one.

 

And yet, Nathan and I had our own modest source of revenue that winter in covering a newspaper route, and I had conscripted my younger brother into my determined plans to save up the $100 we needed to buy a Nintendo. I had never saved anything close to that much money before, but by early December, Nathan and I had collectively put together $40.

 

In the wild optimism of my youth, I figured we were only a few weeks away from saving the rest. So, by my calculations, it seemed quite possible (if not almost certain) that we would have our own Nintendo by Christmas!

 

That was the plan, at least, before Nathan and I snuck into Mom’s Christmas fudge.

The Christmas Fudge

 

Back then, Mom occasionally made fudge around Christmas time. And at least that year, she kept it in Mason jars, stored high up in the corner cupboard of our kitchen.

 

Mom probably thought the fudge was well-hidden, a mistake my parents made over and over (and over) again growing up.

 

Inevitably, my little hands found their way to those Mason jars. Several times. And unbeknownst to me, so had Nathan’s.

 

Back in the 80s, it was harder to deflect blame for missing food items – the rest of my siblings were still too young to be viable suspects. So when Mom discovered the fudge missing, she wasn’t so much sleuthing for confessions as presuming guilt. And at least in this instance, she wasn’t wrong.

 

What felt odd this time around (these sorts of eating indiscretions were routine, if not expected) was just how upset my parents were.

 

For some reason, they decided this offense warranted serious punishment. As we stood there in the kitchen, Mom and Dad angrily told us that Grandma Feickert (whose presents were always the most expensive) had purchased us a Nintendo for Christmas.

 

I can picture my eyes starting to widen at the prospect. . . before the hammer came down: our indulgence had left them no choice – they were telling Grandma to return the Nintendo.

 

They were also confiscating our $40 (though I believe they later let us spend the money on Christmas gifts).

 

And, for good measure, they declared we would never have video games in our home.

 

[My best guess now is that they’d been nervous about video games from outset – to the extent the movie has any basis in reality, 8-Bit Christmas seems to confirm the parental concern was widespread. Our eating indiscretion was simply the scapegoat justification for what they had wanted to do all along.]

 

As my parents pronounced sentence, I felt an odd mixture of wonder and despondency. The thought that I was so close to having my own Nintendo – without even having to save up for it! And then to lose it without even knowing what was at stake!

 

In the days after, I remember feeling that the punishment felt excessive (in fact, my best friend’s parents had privately told him the same, which felt validating). Maybe that’s why I couldn’t help but hold out hope that my parents’ threats had been idly made, and that the spirit of Christmas might still prevail.

 

Was it possible that a late burst of Christmas cheer might lead my parents to secretly tell Grandma to still go ahead and bring us the Nintendo? And if she did, what games might she get us to go with it?

 

As Bane would tell a crippled Batman in The Dark Knight Rises, “there can be no true despair without hope.”

Disappointment Assured

 

When Grandma and Grandpa arrived at our Ilion, NY home that Christmas Eve, I made a careful survey of their vehicle. I sized up every single one of their Christmas presents.  None, though, came close to the contours of that distinctive oblong box.

 

Still, that night and the next morning, I must have surveyed the presents three times. The Nintendo just wasn’t there.

 

A few days later, I referenced the disappointment in a rare journal entry:

 

“We just had Christmas a few days ago. I got two LCD video games. A Carrom game board a sweater and the game of life. [My best friend] got a Nintendo. I would’ve but I ate a bag of candy.”

The Rest of the Story

 

When I wrote that attempted humor piece sixteen years ago, Dad took the post in stride. He had, after all, been known to do a bit of playful writing himself [Dad would sometimes write up mock newspaper articles for friends and family, which gave supposedly serious treatment to inside jokes between family and friends – think of the Onion, but with a more endearing bent.] Over the years, “My Darkest Christmas Day” became a fond source of Christmas ribbing between the two of us. And even if my parents didn’t seem to remember the incident, Dad often feigned an overwrought apology for the supposed parenting fail.

 

For my part, what I hadn’t remembered until these last few weeks is that this was the Christmas just after the triplets were born.

 

That year, as late as August or early September, we all thought Mom was just carrying one child. Then the news came that there were twins. So exciting! And then, about two weeks later, we learned Mom was actually carrying triplets!

 

Hardly two weeks later, as we were still processing this new, impending reality, I woke up one October morning to find that our family of seven was now ten. The triplets had come six weeks early.

 

Nathan, Melissa, Bryan, and Sarah

Dad took two weeks of “vacation” to assist with the birth and transition. And then, in a twist that could have been written by Charles Dickens, he was fired from his job with The Evening Telegram (a local newspaper) on the day he returned to work.

 

As Christmas approached, Dad was still out of work – he wouldn’t find another job for nearly a year. Meanwhile, my new siblings seemed to each take turns with threatening health problems that required worrisome hospital visits.

 

My parents’ letters to my grandparents from that time give glimpses into the stress of our family circumstances. In one letter in late December 1988, Mom described Sarah’s latest ailments and wrote that “my heart is always in my mouth during these times, and I can hardly stop watching her.”

 

Mom wondered if she would ever be able to relax again.

 

Part of that was due to the myriad health concerns. But, of course, the other part was money. Money had apparently always been tight growing up, but that year things felt especially precarious. Even I could feel it.

“A Christmas of Miracles”

 

And yet, this was also the Christmas that Dad would later describe as the “Christmas of Miracles.” In another turn that blended the best of Frank Capra’s and Dickens’ stories, our young family was almost inundated by the generosity of others that season. As Dad would later write:  

 

Things began appearing on the doorsteps, coupons in the mail without evidence of their origin, and friends from near and far seemed to find out [about our family difficulties] and respond. In one case a group of church women from a former community where we had lived, drove 60 miles with bundles of food and the biggest turkey we had ever seen. [Dad couldn’t seem to help himself with his own allusion to Dickens here]

 

I remember one evening that December when an older couple, best known in town for playing Santa and Mrs. Claus, stopped by our home. I remember watching them visit with Dad in our dimly lit hallway and give him an unknown amount of cash. They seemed to anticipate Dad’s awkward response and heartily put off his meager protests. Even now, I can still see them standing there, and how happy and grateful they seemed to be helping us. 

 

When Christmas finally came that year, far from having nothing under the tree (which had apparently been my parents’ fear for a time), one corner of our living room was nearly overflowing with gifts. In fact, Mom and Dad had set up a playpen by the tree for the kindnesses left by others. By Christmas Eve, the playpen was full.

 

Nathan -- Christmas 1988

So, curiously, at the same time I remember feeling utter disappointment that my Nintendo dreams hadn’t come true (and ostensibly never would), I also remember now the feeling of wonder and awe that my family had been so kindly remembered by so many.

 

I can’t really explain all these years of disconnect. Somehow both threads of memory had occupied separate places in my mind – as though they hadn’t occurred simultaneously. And while the “loss” of a Nintendo that Christmas was as devastating as I’ve described, it's clearer to me now that the list of gifts I received that year left me anything but deprived.

 

With the benefit of hindsight, that does not feel like a small thing.

 

So my meager takeaway all these years later isn’t quite what I expected when I started in on this post: feelings of overwhelming gratitude – for my parents (especially), for my grandparents, and for everyone else who looked out for my family that Christmas. Sure, I didn’t get the Nintendo I had wanted more than anything, and that felt terribly unfair. But I can see a little better now how fortunate I was that I got to remain a little boy through it all. Despite the precarious circumstances of those times, I still *somehow* felt secure enough at home that a Nintendo could have outsized importance, and that losing out on that Nintendo could be my greatest worry. 

[Update 1/5/2022: I published this piece a few weeks ago. Since then, I've discovered that I actually got my years mixed up. Apparently misreading (or failing to read) some key clues, I attributed the Nintendo incident to Christmas 1988. But now, having looked further into things, I can say definitively that the Nintendo incident happened the following year -- during Christmas 1989. In fact, I even found a few lines from a letter Dad wrote to Grandma and Grandpa Clark on December 12, 1989: "Sunday some things happened with the two oldest boys that finally snapped the back of everything and we have decided to forgo Christmas this year in essence, and see if we can't find someone we can give what little we will share to them."

It certainly made for a much better story when I thought all of the events above happened in 1988, and I feel more than a little sheepish now about the error. That following Christmas (1989) Dad was only a few months into his new job as the managing editor for the Amsterdam Recorder, commuting an hour or so each way. The letter I referenced above indicates that the stresses from the year prior had only slightly abated. In fact, his writing suggests that he was deeply depressed (though I don't know that he was in a place to recognize it for what it was, or at least to not feel like that depression was a personal failing). So the sentiments I expressed above still seem applicable, the error notwithstanding.

Still, it's important to me to get these stories as right as I can, so what do I do about the mistake? I considered trying to rewrite the story, as well as just deleting it all together. Neither of those options have felt palatable, at least at this point. So for now, I've decided on this middle ground: keeping the story as is, though including this explanatory note about the error. In doing so, I feel at least some license from Dad, who offered this frequent (good natured) retort to any story that sounded somewhat unflattering or unbelievable: "Never let a few facts get in the way of a good story."] 

 

Reflections on Dad at Christmas Time

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer

Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

 

 

Dad has been gone 11 months now.  And as it's Christmas, his loss stings a bit more than it has for some time.  The sights and sounds remind me so much of him.  There are songs, for example, that I cannot hear without thinking he is just in the other room or within a phone call's reach. There are foods that I expect to evoke some kind of response from him.  And the flood of these sensory reminders makes him feel at once closer and yet more painfully distant.

 

So, while my memory is still relatively clear, let me briefly record here some of my memories of Dad and Christmas:

 

We Went to Get a Christmas Tree

 

My earliest Christmas memory with Dad  is likely when I was 2-3.  I had gone with him and my grandfather to get a Christmas tree.  It's a fuzzy memory, being as far back as it is, but I remember we parked Grandpa's truck in front of a big barn, and then Dad and Grandpa left me in the truck while they went to see about a tree.  Grandpa also happened to leave the keys in the ignition.  This was a new thing for me, and I thought it might be a good idea to turn the ignition and pull down on that lever I'd seen Grandpa pull.  Before I knew it, the truck started and rumbled forward -- helplessly toward that big barn (in my mind, the barn was red, but it could have been white).  I don't know how far away from the truck Dad had gotten, but near to when it looked like the truck would crash into the barn (and possibly go through it), Dad flung open the driver's side door, took control of the truck and brought it to a stop with feet to spare.  I remember nothing about the aftermath of that incident, but I don't think Grandpa ever left me in his vehicle unattended, or at least unattended with the keys in the ignition.

 

 [This may have been the tree that nearly cost Grandpa a truck (and a barn)]

 

Peeking Down the Stairs

When I was 4 or 5, there was a Christmas Eve  I remember peeking down from the top of the stairs at our home in Oswego, NY after I had been sent to bed for the evening. Mom and Dad were busily arranging presents under the Christmas tree, and, I think, listening to Christmas music.  It was quite a scene, and I think I wondered if I might catch a glimpse of Santa Claus if I could just wait it out.   But my surveillance operation didn't last long enough; Mom and Dad spotted me and sent me back to my bedroom.  And for some reason, I don't remember making a second effort.

 

It might have been part the same evening or the next Christmas Eve (it's curious how memories jumble), but I next remember Mom telling me in my room that I had to be absolutely still in my bed or Santa wouldn't come.  I remember looking for Santa out the window on the roof, but after those words from Mom, I froze in place.  Apparently I fell asleep rather quickly, too, because it seemed like only minutes had passed before Mom was back in my room telling me that Santa had come, and did I want to get up and open presents? This would be the last time my parents ever had to wake me on Christmas morning.

 

A Toy Truck for "A Relative"

 

I also remember one year finding my way into my parents' bedroom closest one evening at Christmas time and finding a wonderful Tonka truck.  I played with that truck there in my parents' bedroom until Mom came in to put a stop to things.  She then told me that truck was a Christmas present for "a relative", before putting it away and sending me off to bed.  I don't remember thinking anything more about that truck until I opened it up on Christmas morning.  At the time, I thought it was amazing that I had gotten the same truck that Mom was giving to our "relative."

 

Sitting in Front of the Fire

 

I have an image of Dad sitting in the living room some evenings, listening to Christmas music on the stereo, with all the lights off in the room except for those glowing from the Christmas tree.

 

[The Clarks (and Grandma Feickert) singing Christmas Carols, circa 1984]

 

 

All I Wanted Was a VCR For Christmas

 

It's been noted elsewhere, but I learned from Dad the hard way that Santa's existence was a little more complicated than I'd initially been lead to believe.  I think I might have been 11 when I'd schemed a way to get what I really wanted for Christmas -- a VCR. I decided to write Santa a polite but threatening letter that went something like this:

 

Dear Santa,

I would really like a VCR for Christmas.  If you don't get me one, I won't believe in you anymore. 

Sincerely,

Aaron 

 

That evening, Dad called me into the kitchen, where he sat at one end of the table with my opened letter in hand.  I was furious -- he had opened a letter meant for Santa Claus!  He then rather abruptly told me, "Aaron, there is no Santa Claus.  We are not getting a VCR [times were tough in the Clark home in those years].  And don't say a word of this to your brothers and sisters."  Given how earth shattering those revelations were, it surprises me that I don't remember harboring any ill will or suffering any significant trauma.

 

[circa 1988] 

 

Looking back now, it's ironic that the same man who crushed my dreams and couldn't afford a VCR would become known for extending himself so to get his kids all the presents and more on their Christmas list.

 

Nintendo Trauma

 

 

Of course, there was also the year Mom and Dad canceled Christmas (i.e., had Grandma take back the Nintendo that she'd apparently bought for us) after Nathan and I were caught sneaking into the Christmas fudge.  They swore in recent years that there was more to it than just the fudge debacle, but they've never been able to point to what, exactly, it was.  And Nathan and I can't remember being anything other than typical young boys -- heartbroken little boys.

Now that I'm a parent myself, I strongly suspect that Mom didn't really want me to have that Nintendo anyway.  But as she probably won't ever own to it, we'll likely have to wait until the next life to sort this one out.

 

 

The Degenshein International Cookie Party

 

Still in Ilion, I remember fondly Sunday afternoon drives each Christmas season (in that grey and red behemoth of a van of ours) to Frankfort, NY for Joyce Degenshein's International Cookie Party.  Joyce was a member of our church congregation, and would make a dozen or more different kinds of Christmas cookies to taste as we mingled with others and sipped hot chocolate or hot cider.  My favorites were always the Spritz cookies with their white frosting and sprinkles sandwiched between two butter cookies.  Joyce always had an enormous tree that seemed like it filled half her living room, and Dad was always sure to point out (loud enough for all in the apartment to hear it) the placement of her NY Mets ornament on that huge tree.

 

[circa 1989 -- I think I spy a VCR in the background!]

 

An Announcement  

 

One year, when I was 15, my parents announced during our Christmas Eve program (wherein we would sing songs and revisit some of the scriptures related to the Savior's birth) that Mom was pregnant with my youngest brother.  Grandma and Grandpa were there.  That night is one of my most cherished memories, and I remember a feeling of sacredness and reverence about the whole experience. 

 

Years later, it became something of a tradition for the kids to announce pregnancies on Christmas evening (if the secret could be kept until then).

 

Gifts and More Gifts

 

There was a Christmas Eve a year or two later when, having sent the rest of the kids to bed and filled the stockings, Dad took Nathan (my closest sibling in age) and I for a late night drive to his office, which was 20 miles or so away.  There he had us load the van with a cache of presents that he'd been hiding, perhaps even from my mother. 

 

From that point on, he seemed to become only more obsessed with squirreling away Christmas gifts for people starting very early in the year.  In fact, it became a running joke that Dad would start asking for Christmas Lists in July or August. 

 

Here's a sample of one such email from August 26, 2014:

 

Seeing Hobby Lobby is already advertising their Christmas deals, and Smith's has all of their Halloween Candy out for the season, it's probably time to get general Christmas wish lists for the season.  It helps to have a head's up.

Dad

 

And if we hadn't sent him that list by September, he started to get really anxious.  Another part of an email from September 20, 2014:  

 

Got Christmas wish list from Sarah this past week and something from Alisha, but I would appreciate hearing from others of you as well.

ALC

 

 [This bowling ball is now the stuff of legend in the Clark home, circa 2007]

 

Always Checking In

 

As the years passed and Dad became "Grandpa," we found ourselves routinely making the Christmas drive to Layton, UT from Southern California to spend the holidays there.  Dad's excitement manifest itself in many ways, including repeated telephone calls while we were en route.  He would check up on our progress, and always advise us to "drive safe."  An hour or two later, he'd call again.  I can't help but think of those calls now without smiling.

 

Last to Bed and First Up

 

Even in recent years, Dad always seemed to be one of the last ones to bed on Christmas Eve, and one of the first ones up on Christmas morning.  I can still see him tiptoeing around the house with excitement while having on the George C. Scott version of A Christmas Carol in the background (for Dad, that is the definitive movie version).

 [2014]

A Christmas Eve Testimony

This was from last Christmas Eve.  Most of us were huddled around the piano in the living room.  We knew Dad was sick then.  He'd been sick for a few years, but it wasn't until a week or so before last Christmas that anyone had been able to diagnose what had been happening to him.  At the time, he'd been told he may have another 18 months, but there were some treatment options that gave us hope it might be even longer.  Dad seemed at peace and as anxious as he had ever been to celebrate Christmas.

 

 

We had little notion at the time he shared this that he would only be with us a few weeks more.  Even if we had known, though, I'm not sure I would've done anything different in how I spent that last Christmas with him.

 

A Savior is Born

 

I do believe I will see Dad again.  In fact, I'd say I know it.  That it could be otherwise doesn't even seem possible.  But it still feels like such a long way away, and that distance makes me sad.

 

I believe that Jesus Christ made possible that eventual reunion and so much more.  He really is my Savior.  And there really is cause for celebration this season.  Dad knew that.  That has a lot to do with why he loved Christmas so much.  And that's part of why I feel a particular ache for his company right now.

 

This year, it has seemed remarkable to me that as often as Christmas season comes, there always seems to be a feeling of renewal in remembering Jesus Christ.  Those sacred hymns we sing year after year continue to evoke feelings of reverence and awe.  But this year, that reverence and awe mix with poignant feelings of celebration and loss.  At least for now, I hope that never changes.

 

Merry Christmas! 

Saints and Poets

This morning I was reminded of that haunting scene in Thorton Wilder's Our Town: Emily Gibbs has just died, and she decides to revisit her twelfth birthday. Though she relives the beginnings of the day with fresh wonder and excitement, she ultimately can't bear it. "I can't look at everything hard enough," she laments. Frustrated that that the participants of the day seemed incapable of appreciating what lay before them, she asks to go back. On her way she asks the stage manager "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? -- every, every minute?" "No," is the cold answer. "The saints and poets, maybe--they do some."

I thought on that scene this morning as I made my children oatmeal, and particularly as I looked over a gift my father gave me for Christmas. This year he gave us a compilation of his journal entries covering the early part of the lives of his children. The first entry in the compilation is from 1977, when he and my mother learned she was pregnant -- with me. Those entries offer a glimpse of past events akin to Emily Gibbs'-- though perhaps simply in taking the effort to record them, Dad came a little closer to "realiz[ing] life while [we] lived it."

It didn't take long before I thought on my own children, and I considered what it was I wanted to be able to remember about them -- and what I wanted them to be able know about themselves [at this age] when they are my age. So I tried paying closer attention at breakfast:

There was Jared's prayer this morning. Instead of blessing the food, he prayed "Please bless Emily that she'll stop touching the Christmas tree."

Then, in the middle of breakfast, Jared asked for more brown sugar on his oatmeal. I denied the request, explaining that I had already put a little extra brown sugar into his oatmeal since it's Christmas Eve. At the words "Christmas Eve", Emily spontaneously shouted a cheery "Ho, Ho, Ho!"

Finally, as breakfast was ending, Jared noted: "I hope it's a long time for us to die, Dad. Do people come off the ground when they die?"

The noteworthy moments multiplied -- exponentially -- as I looked for them, and I very quickly found I could not look on them hard enough. I could not hold my children tight enough to keep them as they are. In fact, I could not even hold onto today's priceless breakfast scenes. It is not in my power.

Instead, my only hope seems to be in recording -- in my journal entries or this blog -- what few experiences from the day are deemed important enough to preserve. If my responsibilities take me too long into the evening on any given day, they risk cursory treatment, or, far more often, simply getting skipped entirely. If I happen to miss the mark one day and dwell too much on the unimportant, time still passes unforgivingly. At best, I find that mildly distressing.

Neal A. Maxwell once noted that we humans never seem to feel quite "at home" in time. We too often either find ourselves wanting to hold onto certain moments longer, while making other events pass more quickly. He mused that the discomfort is evidence that we are eternal beings. I suppose that doctrine has never seemed as clear to me as over a bowl of oatmeal this morning with my kids.

At any rate, Mr. Wilder, it seems that "saints and poets" may not be alone in realizing, in some measure, "life as they live it." Instead, for what it's worth, my money's actually on those who diligently keep a journal.

On the Tenth Day of Christmas...

My true love threatened mutiny if forced to listen to any more Manheim Steamroller.*

With only a few days to Christmas I am already lamenting the passing of the Season. That it must end at all means it must end too soon. I am starting to tire, though, of my Christmas music collection.

Tonight Michelle and I will finish reading A Christmas Carol -- a Christmas tradition we started years ago (to keep up with President Monson, who apparently does the same). At under 100 pages, we read a few pages a night during the month of December. For those who've read the story, hopefully you'll agree that, as fond as we are of some of the movie versions of the story, they can't match Dicken's narration in the book itself.

By the way, I am still waiting on some sugar cookies, though I have it on good authority that Michelle and Jared will be making some for Santa tomorrow. They are, after all, Santa's favorite. Hopefully he'll appreciate my contribution as well -- cookie decorater -- since it'll be my job to make sure that his cookies have just the right amount of frosting, and that the frosting is just crusted over by the time he reaches for them. I suspect that my attention to detail in this regard will be handsomely rewarded.

Lastly, thanks be to President Bush, whose December 6 Executive Order has allowed me to spend Christmas Eve at home. I intend to make good use of the day by investing a few extra hours in Super Mario Galaxy on the Wii.

* And were we relegated to the music that has come after their first two CDs, I'd have to agree.

On the First Day of Christmas...

Twelve days left until Christmas, and the Clarks are in full Christmas mode. Christmas music, presents under the tree, We've even had some nippy weather the past few nights to justify it (in the 40's). Knowing that Santa is among my avid readers, I thought it prudent again to post my letter to him this year, which I wrote in conjunction with our home evening activity on the subject.* I'm sure you'll sense the more concise (and modest) approach this year. I'll let you know on December 25th how Santa took to the letter:

Dear Santa,

I have been the best in the family, so I deserve the most.

I trust you Santa. You've never let me down (except that one time).

Love,
Aaron

* By the way, Santa, Jared's more focused letter has already been posted on Michelle's blog.

Post Christmas Post, Part 2

Umm...so my family wasn't supposed to be sick this long.

At any rate, here's what you missed since my Christmas Eve Post:

• 4.5 hours of opening presents on Christmas Morning (my family does it one gift at a time...and there were 17 people in the house);
• The Christmas matinee of Rocky Balboa -- a decent movie, I guess, though what I really can't wait for is the werewolf movie previewed just before it started. Something like Blood and Chocolate (who doesn't want to see a werewolf movie with that title).
• The four or five games of wiffle ball in my parents backyard, in January (we ruined that yard) and me avenging the fact that I was the #4 overall pick in the first game. I also discovered a near unhittable forkball.
• Michelle winning the annual Clark Milkshake Making Contest on December 27, 2006 with a "Cinnamon Roll Milkshake" (it really was good). I placed a respectable 5 out of 11 with a plain, yet perfectly constructed, peanut butter cup milkshake. Among the controversies to arise out of this year's contest: (1) do you have to add milk to be able to call it a milkshake?; and (2) do you have to use a blender (perhaps better -- is there an unfair advantage to not using a blender)?
• Me coming out of nowhere to smoke the family competition at Disney Scene It? My record: 5-1. The lone loss coming after Michelle, in a jealous rage because of the fame and accolades of my unheralded prowess, rustled me from sleep at 2 a.m. demanding a game. Knowing I was hardly coherent (and playing under protest) Michelle managed to steal a game from me. I followed it up the next day (during my waking hours) with a decisive victory.
• Watching the most amazing ending to a football game I'll ever see (Boise St. vs. Oklahoma) the night before we were to get up at 3 a.m. and drive 12 hours back to San Diego.
• Being with Michelle as she's hacked out a lung...for the past week and a half.

We're optimistic about the New Year, though it won't actually start until Michelle gets over being sick.

Post-Christmas, Part 1

Any stay at my parents' home seems to induce lethargy with respect to good habits (including writing). I have a glut of things I want to cover here, which I expect to do over the course of the weekend, pending Michelle's recovery from what may perhaps be a sinus infection.

First, a poem I wrote Michelle for Christmas, which I'm confident enough in (at least the subject matter) to publish to the world:

My heart to thee, my love, my queen
Whose absence I disdain
Whose presence noble kings might seek
Thy thoughts to entertain.

Thy beauty doth exceed the rose
Thy petals fairer all
That sunlight bends with hopes it might
Upon thy count'nance fall.

Thy fretting makes thee fairer still
To view thy furrowed brow
Demand perfection of thine acts
And grace in thee endow.

Whose children's glance delights thine eyes
Whose kindness quiets tears
Thine ears discern their faintest cries
Thy touch calms every fear.

Thy caring hands lift weary souls
And strength and hope renew
With silent, oft unnoticed, acts
Lone seen from Heaven's view.

To thee, my love, whose gentleness
Long since ensnared my heart
Though storms and mountains lay ahead
May I ne'er thy side depart.

Merry Christmas!

No times seem dearer than those with family at Christmas -- all the more as we celebrated by sharing our testimonies of Christ and our hopes in Him.

It also doesn't hurt that Santa came.

Merry Christmas to all (and to all a good night)!

5 Days Until Christmas!

There was a period of years when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. Santa knows this, and from my discussions with him, I know he holds me blameless. It was actually my Dad's fault.

Many Christmases ago I wrote Santa a letter. I'd written faithfully every year, but never quite gotten what I'd hoped for from him on Christmas morning. So on this particular year I tried a different strategy -- threatening Santa Claus:

Dear Santa,

I really want a VCR for Christmas. In fact, if I don't get one, I'm going to stop believing in you.

Yours Truly,
Aaron

Not long after my Dad sat me down for a little chat. My letter lay open on the table. I was aghast -- it was supposed to have been sent to the North Pole! He then told me flat out: "There is no Santa Claus and you're not getting a VCR." He said there was no money for one, to which I pointed out that I was asking Santa, not my parents, for the VCR.

I cried angrily that he'd read Santa's letter and wondered how I could go on. There was no comfort in return, only an admonition not to spoil it for the rest of the kids.

Only years and years later was my faith in jolly old Saint Nick restored -- when President Faust spoke of him at the 1999 Christmas Devotional and noted the similarities between Santa Claus and Christ. Not long after I found means to speak to Santa himself, who frankly forgave me (I had, after all attempted to extort presents from him) and we both lamented the actions of my father. We mused on the presents I might have had if I'd but believed in those intervening years. He then deftly deflected my hints that I should then get all of those lost gifts at the following Christmas, noting: It's the season that comes only once a year.

Santa also noted that retribution against my father would be swift. From reports, Santa instructed my grandparents (on my mother's side) to make sure that he got a tin of pretzels for Christmas (and Dad hates pretzels).

6 Days Until Christmas!

Inadvertent consequence of the Christmas season number 36: Jared now knows about whips. Yukon Cornelius has a whip in Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer, and Santa just happens to have whip for the reindeer in the book The Polar Express.

Consequently we've had to instruct Jared on the etiquette of whipping: when it is and is not appropriate. For example, it is ok to whip reindeer if you're driving Santa's sleigh (or a dogsled). It is not ok to whip Emily, or even to threaten to whip Emily.

And yet, despite our best efforts, the notion of "whipping" has found its way into our home.

7 Days Until Christmas

Somehow I'd forgotten what a guantlet of goodies the workplace can be at Christmas time. I fear there's little hope for me over the next few days.

Jared wrote a letter to Santa Claus tonight (with a little help). Knowing that Santa monitor's this blog, I did not think it wrong to make the contents of Jared's letter available to the jolly old elf through this medium:

18 December 2006

Dear Santa,

My name is Jared. Here is what I want for Christmas (I turn 3 on Christmas Day):

• The monkey that goes "like this" (on all fours);
• A tiger;
• A black good knight, and his horse and sword;
• A big momma giraffe
• A shark
• A cow
• A dinosaur
• A lion -- A daddy lion ( so he can fight the other lions)
• A snowman
• A Jessie Doll; a Zurg doll (a BIG, BIG Zurg from Toys-R-Us); a woody doll (even though I already have one;
• A Batman Dog
• The purple monkey at Toys-R-Us
• 2 More Buzz Light Years (even though I already have 2).

I've been really good this year Santa. I promise.
Love,
Jared
[Parent's note to Santa: Santa, you needn't worry. We told Jared tonight that even the best children only get 2 presents at most from Santa. Please note, however, that these restrictions do not hold true for the parent. Accordingly, on account of my exceeding goodness this year I am expecting everything on my list. Thanks Santa!]

8 Days Until Christmas

I wrote this a few years ago. It is certainly the work of an amateur, but it is mine.

Peace on Earth, Good will toward men
So peel the Christmas bells
Whose voice and song to hearts belong
And truth the Spirit tells

They toll the birth of Christ the King
And wake man’s deep desire
To reach within, and with his kin
Rejoice with heavn'ly choirs.

That we too could with them sing praise
And wintry souls refine
That we might show and He might know
Gratitude for gifts divine.

Let my soul sing! and with those bells
Proclaim His royal birth
And with that, then, good will toward men

And peace throughout the Earth

Symbol of the Season

In the Clark home*, Christmas is the most anticipated time of year. Any questions as to why should be easily answered by studying the picture below:



Behold, The 1 lb. Gilliam's Barber Pole! [I know, it's hard to take your eyes off it].
As far as I can tell, this Barber Pole is at least 10 years old -- perhaps as old as 15. If you look closely, you'll see the price tag is still on the top. It's from a store in Upstate New York that hasn't been around for at least a decade. Yet here it is, taking up precious space in our San Diego apartment.
My brother Nathan bought this giant piece of candy in a post Christmas sale -- he always preferred to buy the Barber Poles because he could make them last the whole year [for the which we thought him nuts -- since nobody in their right mind wants to be eating candy canes year round.] He apparently thought it was important enough to store while he was on his mission. Then, several years ago, he inexplicably gave it to us as a Christmas gift, and we've been treating it like a family heirloom every since.
That said, I have caught Michelle stealing a few hungry looks at the heirloom in recent days. To avoid any potential temptations, I've determined that she should never be in the same room alone with the Barber Pole -- lest she be overcome.
*By the way, Emily is on her fourth night of sleeping in her crib. We've had so much free time these past few nights that we hardly know what to do with ourselves.

Sweet Dreams

We decided on a bold course of action yesterday: Emily was to fall asleep on her own in her crib.

This may well mean little to you, and perhaps you've even rolled your eyes in reading my tales of sleep deprivation and late night drives with Emily all in an effort to woo her to sleep. We simply could not bear to have her cry herself to sleep if we could help it.

With Jared it was the same -- which lead to many torturous nights and to Jared not learning to sleep through the night until he was a year old. Emily's path started better but taken far worse turns, which has wreaked havoc. And what's more -- her sleeping habits are almost entirely our own fault.

So last night we resolved to leave her alone in her crib for the sake of our sanity. Emily bore it moderately well -- Michelle actually seemed to suffer the most. After a few hours of crying, though, Emily put herself to sleep.

Now we just have to get her to learn to stay asleep.

Oh, and in the meantime, we made a gingerbread house and watched "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" and "Frosty the Snowman":

(I'd like to think Jared was listening intently to my tutelage, but he's actually watching the TV)

(Michelle would have you know that she crafted the front. I would have you know that I made sure not a drop of frosting went to waste)

It's a Wonderful Life

What do you do when you have a five month old daughter that doesn't go to sleep until near midnight most nights, and otherwise wants to be held and walking around the rest of the time (and this has been going on for three weeks)? Well, you certainly don't blog. In fact, you don't to get to do much of anything but wait and hope.

In other news, Michelle won a $25 Target gift card in a drawing at our community tree lighting ceremony yesterday. This was wonderful news -- especially since, before the drawing, I wisely made a deal that if either of us won one of the gift cards, we'd split it. (No comment on whether I'd have held up my end of the bargain if I'd won the gift card). Afterward, we headed straight over to Target to spend our winnings. Since Michelle wasn't enamored with the idea of using the gift card to stock up on Mint M&Ms (which were on sale for $2), we opted to finally purchase It's a Wonderful Life and White Christmas on DVD. Jared also got the toy hippopotamus he's been eyeing.

Maybe Emily will someday give Michelle and I a moment to watch these movies without requiring one of us to be up and walking -- carrying her around.

Christmas Carols in July (revisited)

With Halloween out of the way and things getting dark way too early, I've felt some inklings toward Christmas music. As I mentioned last year, though, this early in November that always means trouble in our home -- Michelle simply won't tolerate it until after the Thanksgiving meal.* Elsewhere, though, my siblings have started listening to it -- and I think my Father's been listening to it since August.

So, driving to a golf lesson, and intent on defying my wife, I tried playing some of my "Christmas Music" iTunes playlist that has just about my entire Christmas collection. It was 75 degrees outside or so and I had the windows down. When Manheim Steamroller came on, though, I almost shuddered. It was too early, and my system couldn't handle it yet.

Perplexed, I asked around -- to those willing to entertain the idea of Christmas music this time of year -- and some suggested to start with the religious Christmas music: Manheim, and the other whimsical, non-religious music might be a little to "hard" for this time of year. So instead, I tried easing into things this evening [with Michelle out of the house] by trying out my "Sunday Christmas Music" iTunes playlist from last year -- lots of Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Messiah. This music is much easier to embrace, and honestly has me swept up again already (at least until Michelle gets home).

Perhaps that's the key then: save the whimsical stuff for after Thanksgiving, and start with the religious Christmas music in July.


* In fact, today she referred to herself as "the devil incarnate" in jest when referring to her zero tolerance policy. I said nothing, and there was an awkard silence for 7 seconds.

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.