Merry Christmas

Recently, my bff Bri and his wife had a baby girl, Anna. She is phenomenally cute and when I went to their house to see her (which was really a cleverly disguised plan to watch baseball and drink beers with Brian), they let me hold her. I was shocked. I half expected the state to march in and file a 51A on Brian and Judi for them allowing my useless ass to hold their newborn.

After some awkward moments, I managed to hold little Anna in what appeared to be a comfortable position (I even supported the head) and she eventually fell asleep in my arms. But then she woke up and started to cry and I handed her off as quickly as Ty Law handed the drugs to his cousin at Niagra Falls.

Then, there was the time when I entertained my friend Scott and his wife Jen's son Parker, by engaging him in a light saber battle and having him bash me on the back until the saber made a cool sound. I remembered from my Introduction To Child Rearing class that, as the adult, I am supposed to DISCOURAGE violence, not condone and support it as I did with Parker.

My point with these two stories is that I don't know much about raising children. In fact, I know nothing. Well, almost nothing. I do know that in this annoying holiday season, we should all try our best to fight through the irritations and make it a special time for someone important to us. Maybe we should make it special to our children, our brothers, our sisters, our parents, our wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends, or best friends. But the point is, we should all try to make it special for someone, somewhere.

Because I know someone did that for me and I'll never forget it.

Some years ago, when I was a cute, charming, innocent little blonde haired boy (okay, the part about being cute, charming, and innocent is a complete dramatization), I remember having a hissy fit (trying to remember all of my hissy fits is like trying to remember all of the numbers after .14 in pi) and stomping upstairs in a fit of rage. I was alone stewing on the couch while my mother and sisters were downstairs wrapping presents. To this day, I cannot remember what the hissy fit was about, where I stewed post hissy fit, or even what year it was. I was probably 8 or 9. Maybe I was 15. Actually, I was probably 27.

But I do remember that in the midst of my brooding, my father came by with his jacket on and said, "Hey, get your coat and shoes. We're going somewhere."

Since I was the same kid with a No Dads Allowed sign on my door, I entered into this journey with a great amount of trepidation. But, like any kid having a fit, the idea of "doing something" was tempting and since I hadn't listened to Nirvana yet, my angst hadn't reached it's full stubborn potential. So I went.

I clearly remember walking outside. I don't remember which boat sized, American made car of the week I got into, but I do remember getting into the car (and NOT buckling my seatbelt. My dad was never much of a stickler for the rules) and hearing my father ask, "Know what we're doing?"

I didn't and the tantrum that I had thrown just 134 seconds ago was long forgotten and so I asked, "Where?"

"Stocking shopping," was his reply.

And so we went Stocking Shopping. And it may have been the most fun experience I have ever had in my entire life.

First, we stopped at The Town Grocery where I got some "fancy" mints for my mother and a whole bunch of pal gum for my little sister (neatly wrapped in a small brown paper bag). I also remember getting a Fun Dip because when I was with my dad, I could get that flavored sugar. My mum would have never allowed THAT. I got a whole mess of other stuff, but can't remember what it was for the life of me.

We then took the long, two mile drive down route 3A to hit the CVS that still sits in the Crossroads Plaza. I can remember so perfectly driving by the common and all it's lights. I always loved the common lights, but I felt that they went by so quickly. Well, they didn't this time because my father decided to take TWO whole loops around the common so I could take them all in. He even offered to walk around, but I turned down the idea because I wanted to get back to our shopping expedition.

Eventually (and by eventually I mean 9 minutes later), we reached the CVS where my father let me pick out whatever gifts I wanted for our family. I grabbed some really nice $.99 nail polish for both my mother and Julie. I got some perfume (I think the scent was sewerage) for the both of them. I also bought some gloves for my mom (Isotoner rings a bell). I wanted to include Mike in the mix, so I got him a matchbox, even though I felt he was too young for them. I picked up some "fancier" (isn't the Whitman Sampler really fancy?) candies for both my sisters and my Auntie Kay (she too had a stocking at the Coughlin house) and then we departed. But I remember being devastated that we didn't get anything for Molly. I guess CVS didn't market toward 5 year old girls.

We then left CVS and I ran across the intersection with a bag in one hand and my fathers in the other. When we got in the car, I remember telling him that I didn't get anything for Molly.

"Don't worry," he said. "We still have one more place to go."

And did we ever.

After our CVS run, we went to the Crown Jewel of my father's retail world: Paperama.

I'd been in Paperama before, but usually with my mother. I never had the unlimited credit line that I had that night with my father though. And I don't know how much I ran up. I probably thought it was some exorbitant amount and it most likely wasn't. Even if it was, dad wouldn't have cared. He never cared about stuff like that.

Back to that shopping experience. I was OBSESSED with finding something for Molly, for I had gotten her nothing more substantial than a cherry (back when you liked cherry, Molly) Jolly Rancher stick. I went all over the store and everything I saw said 6 and up and Molly was 5, so I COULDN'T get her something that was for a 6 year old (if I had known that 1. Those labels weren't a constitutional amendment and 2. Molly was the most precocious 5 year old ever, then I would have gotten her WAAAAAAAAY more stuff). Eventually, I found a sweet pop up book and the memory of that book is so clear, that I know I could pick it out of a lineup if I had to.

After we concluded at Paperama (that's Ramapaper to dad), we headed back home. On the way back, my father may have mentioned something about my tantrum, but all of that was a distant memory, for a had just gone stocking shopping. With the American Express Black Card no less!!!!!

At home, my father and I ventured downstairs to the "wrapping table" and my father and I wrapped our various knick knacks. I can vividly remember a snow man porcelain figurine (if I got this as a gift now from one of my students, I'd regift it at a grab in a second!), some nails files, a stuffed teddy bear (I managed to find Molly something else), but other than that, I don't remember much. I remember being at that table for what seemed like a life time. And I remember never wanting it to end.

In later years, dad and I went stocking shopping again and it was always fun, but it was never as fun as that night December night in 1984 (or 85? 86? 96?- Wait. I was drunk that night).

I have lots of other great memories of Christmas at the Coughlin house. Crying when I got Atari and claiming that that particular Christmas with the 2600 was "The-sniffle-best-sniffle-Christmas-sniffle-I-sniffle-ever-sniffle-had!" The Millenium Falcon Christmas. The new bike under my own PERSONAL Christmas tree. The Crossbows and Catapults Christmas. The Christmas of my Teac 5 Disc Player. The big Panasonic speaker Christmas. The Christmas my family waited until 4:30 for me to get home from work.

And I remember many things about my father from Christmas. The ghetto gifts stocking stuffers from DeMoulas. The six pack of Bass. The scratch tickets. Him holding the trash bag in his 1960s maroon robe.

A lot has changed in my Christmas life since then. We've tried to make it special. It still is. But something is always missing. And I forget many memories that I assumed I never would forget.

But I'll never forget that Christmas when dad took me stocking shopping. I can't remember one thing I learned in biology in high school, I can't remember May 24th, 1996 (the night before UMass graduation), and I can't remember what I had for dinner Monday. I can't recall my age the night of stocking shopping, the gifts purchased, or the night of the week we went. I don't remember whether my dad let me wander or if he with me the whole time (in actuality, he probably dropped me off and went to Ma Newmans). But what I do remember is the feeling I had. It's a feeling that has stuck with me forever; one I have sitting here typing this.

It was the feeling of being the most special, important, happy person in the world. I had the greatest dad in the world and there wasn't a person alive who was having Christmas better than me.

And it was my dad who made me feel that way.

So when the season gets really hectic, and the traffic sucks, and the lines are long, and the cookies burn, try to remember that for someone, somewhere, you are making this season a very special time. In fact, you are very likely making it a time they will never forget.

Because I know someone- probably without even knowing it- made this time of year a time I will always cherish.

And that someone was my dad.

So do the same for someone special in your life this holiday season.

Merry Christmas to all.

Especially you dad, wherever you are.