A Christmas Song

A hoary frost clings to the inside of the window, muscling it's way in - unwanted, unwelcome - but altogether familiar. Mixing with the summer's untouched dust, it over ripens into winter's dirty complaint. A box below holds the reminders of Autumn: bats and baseballs, footballs, and tetherballs with frayed ropes. Faded red rubber kick balls, deflated by the cold, sit quietly like old pumpkins. The winter sun is a primeval bachelor today that illuminates without warmth, casting shadows so puny as to be chased away by a warm smile.

Nonetheless, warm smiles turned grim as the children filed past the ball room and shuddered. Normally they would look longingly at the box of fun pursuits but today there are no takers. They shuffle along, single file, through the doorway into the gymnasium. One little boy jumps doing his best to slap the top of the doorframe and catches nothing but air. He is simply too small but he is unaware that he is too small on this day. Clearly he was too small yesterday but perhaps not today. No matter, tomorrow he might just be tall enough. His attempts are always met with the now weary warning of some adult. He's been told a thousand times about the boy who caught his ring on a nail and pulled off his own finger. A gruesome tale indeed but he's noticed at least a thousand jumps by the other taller boys, some with rings, who all have ten fingers. In fact he has never met a nine fingered boy; besides, wouldn't it be easier to just remove any nails above the doors? Nothing to hang up there anyway this time of year but Mistletoe and the school regards kissing in the same manner as doorway jumping: unnecessary fun. Once, in the first grade, he was kissed on both cheeks at the same time while standing in line for lunch. Two girls had each claimed him as their boyfriend and were willing to prove it. He was flattered, but somewhat unnerved, by their giggly aggression. Too much of that kind of thing can make you twitchy so he opted to avoid standing between girls. Not a bad policy.

Today is the last day of school before the Christmas break. No real learning takes place for the time is set aside for room parties with cupcakes, cider, red and green hard candy and little gift exchanges. Teachers and students alike bury old grudges replacing their stinginess of spirit with compliments too warm to be true anywhere but in their hearts. Our little boy, unmoved by the generousness of the season and unaware that he is supposed to compliment the fourth grade's evil Ice Queen who often sends him to the hall to sit and ponder a wasted life, instead is pleased to have solved his candy cane problem by hanging it on his ear. Absentmindedly taking his place in the middle of the gym he plops down with his red copy of Christmas song lyrics and watches the coach and principal wheel out a piano. The coach is a muscled guy with a goofy sideways smile. The boy likes him and the principal too, who looks a lot like Mr. Magoo. They are followed out by the boy's old nemesis: the music teacher.

(There was an incident once involving her precious records and his gum which earned him a week with Mr. Magoo. What began as punishment turned into a pretty good week of duty as an all-around office boy and the principal's new best buddy. Having to go back to music class was a dear price to pay, the punishment mitigated by a knowing look and a teary "chin up" speech. The principal took it like a man and did his best to soldier on alone.)

The music teacher pounded out various Christmas hits - a few hymns (you could do that back then) and the classic songs kids could holler out with enthusiasm. But when the music teacher came to A Christmas Song a strange transformation took place. She played beautifully and tenderly. The old girl played like she had once dated Mel Torme and every lovely note was a kiss blown his direction. God smiled, and that was the moment our little boy fell in love with song. The room of peppermint scented mouth breathers fell away and there was no one left but the little boy and his song. He sang of chestnuts and carols, Eskimos and sleighs. His little heart swelled with feeling and for the first time understood why the music teacher sometimes got this dreamy look and seemed to not be aware of the kids bouncing off the walls. Now every song had new meaning and when they finished with Silent Night his soul got very quiet.

In the years to come the little boy would finally slap the top of the doorframe, sing in choirs, look for good songs and write the ones he couldn't find. One Christmas he wrote his own song:

See the frost that grows across the window

Delicate traceries etched in ice

Soon it will go, for He made it so

This is Christmas joy for me

I take my hand out of my pocket

And take the tiny hand of a child next to me

I know that I care; it feels so good to share

This is Christmas joy for me

Perhaps you find me simple minded

Better simple than wrong

For I have found a joy that lingers,

All year long

See a babe lying in a manger

Then a boy astounding in the temple

He's there by the sea, again at Gethsemane

Then on the cross at Calvary

I spend my time with people who know Jesus

I guess it's because they seem a lot like me

We lift up our voices in these Christmas hymns

Hallelujah our Joy is born in Bethlehem

He would often be lonely but never alone. He would love and be loved. He came to know the grace and mercy of God and that was the song he loved most.

Copyright December 2010, John P. Van Dusen
The painting is, "Boy" by Kazimir Malevich , 1928-1932