I began to write post-Christmas letters sometime in the mid-nineties and continued for about ten years. I ran across some recently and thought this might be an appropriate season to print one I wrote twenty years ago this Christmas.
December 30, 2004
So, I’m stumbling through copious amounts of wrapping paper storm residue from the Christmas morning ritual on my crutches (knee replacement surgery 12/05/04…Yeah, thanks for asking. I’m doin’ OK, but just OK. You know, with the terrible pain and all…) mining the sea of bright colors and ribbon for endangered gifts, you know, the envelopes of cash, checks, and gift cards that quite accidentally find their way to the landfill, when my left crutch finds the top side of a slickened gift tag lovingly written, that said, “To My Loving Husband. May Your Recovery Be Swift.” Signed, “All My Love, Donna.” In an uncontrollable split second, my crutch slid straight out atop this providential love note with my full body weight following at warp speed. I clutched desperately at air on my way down. So sudden was my fall that the expletives all came after impact. It happened that quickly. I had struck my new knee and old head on the hardwood floor with an unbroken fall. Clutching both knee and head, I uttered a protracted and deafening guttural moan appropriate for such occasions. Donna was quickly on her knees at my side. She tenderly held my head in both hands, our faces inches apart, mixing breaths of fear and pain, and she said, “You think that hurts, you should try having a baby.” It really did. It happened just that way.
The striking irony of my near demise over such a loving note has set me to wondering which recovery Donna was referencing. Was it the one in progress, or the one to come? The non-specific nature of her wording calls me to be ever vigilant. She cares for me I’m sure, but I do recall a threatening undertone to her comments on my lack of progress on the “job list” I was to accomplish before Christmas. Speaking of irony, is it not just too rich that Donna’s worst experiences with pain have produced our most sublime sources of pleasure. Of course, I speak of the children. Although each is incredibly accomplished, I will attempt, for the sake of the reader, and to reduce attendant nausea in the face of a boastful parent, to understate both the station and accomplishments of each:
(The extended part about the kids I am leaving out, as I’m sure you, the reader, do not have that kind of time. Anyway, although they were hilariously written, my words were often acknowledged with only eyerolls from the precious subjects they are. I am pretty sure they did not want others to know I was their father. I will limit identifying them with this simple listing name and where they were in 2004.)
Adam, 25, Wollongong Australia
Natalie 23, Chicago, Illinois
David 21, Indiana University, Bloomington
Audrey, 18, Saint Marys College, South Bend
Kevin, 16, Bluffton High School
Now, if I could speak privately for just a moment with those fathers/men who have made it thus far in this mind-numbing document. Please, mothers/women I would ask that on your honor, you read no further in this paragraph. Guys, you know how we are always called upon to be pillars of strength and how we dare not complain due to the fact we cannot birth a child, a task we would have gladly taken on, God willing, I want you to know that my knee hurts like the devil. I wake many a night in the throes of a nightmare where I am unable to walk 18 holes of golf. I wake in a cold sweat with visions of being confined to riding in a golf cart with Donna as the driver, and yes, she is giving me swing advice. Worse yet, she has clubs and is playing too. I would appreciate any words of encouragement or support you might muster, as I have no one here with whom I might share these unpleasant visions. Pass the pain medication. Please!
Although I have taken license with the truth in parts of this letter, what follows is undeniable. We are fortunate as a family in more ways than can be counted, if for no other reason than the grace of God. We are especially blessed to count you among family and friends who mean a great deal to us. Your unconditional love and support are the underpinnings of our family. Here’s hoping we see you soon.
Peace,
The Ballingers
Here’s The Thing: Merry Christmas!
ken.ballinger@yahoo.com
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Editor’s Note: This is one of a series of articles and opinions written by a group of retired and current teachers — Ken Ballinger, Billy Kreigh, Kathy Schwartz, and Anna Spalding. Their intent is to spur discussions at the dinner table and elsewhere. You may also voice your thoughts and reactions via The News-Banner’s letters to editor.
