Dad had opined, yearly, that each Christmas was the best ever. Early on, I found this odd, and with adolescence began to feel that the holiday could actually be be improved by the absence of such comments.
Eventually, the significance of his annual pronouncement became clearer.
For Dad, there had been bad years, bad times, and Christmases which if not bad, were at least sad. He never proclaimed his sadness, no matter how obvious it may have been. He was Dad, after all, and his yearly assurances were not so much for us to hear as for him to make.
Eventually, the significance of his annual pronouncement became clearer.
For Dad, there had been bad years, bad times, and Christmases which if not bad, were at least sad. He never proclaimed his sadness, no matter how obvious it may have been. He was Dad, after all, and his yearly assurances were not so much for us to hear as for him to make.
