Day 9: Christmas Day In The Morning
"Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see
how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up. I wish I could manage alone.”
"Well, you can't Adam." His mother's voice was brisk. "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he
took his turn."
"Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him.”
When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of
that before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about
loving their children---they had no time for such things. There was always so much work to be done on
the farm.
Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be
called again. He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes
shut, but he got up. And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a
few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey
they had raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother
and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more,
such as a book And he saved and bought them each something too.
He wished, that Christmas when he was fifteen, that he had a better present for his father As usual he
had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking the
night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window. The stars were bright.
"Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?"
“It's just a barn,” his father had replied, "like ours.”
Then Jesus had been born in a barn. The thought struck him like a silver dagger. He could get up early,
earlier than four o’ clock and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He’d do it all
alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in to start the milking, he’d see it all done and
know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he
mustn’t sleep to sound.
He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match each time to look at his old watch. Midnight,
and half past one, and then two o'clock.
At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky
boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them too.
He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's
surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was
getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans.
But they wouldn't be waiting or empty. They’d be standing in the milk-house full.
“What on earth?” he could hear his father exclaiming.
He smiled and milked steadily. The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before.
Milking for once was not a chore, but a gift to his father who loved him. He finished when the two milk
cans were full. He covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure of the latch.
Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he
heard his father coming.
“Rob!" his father called. “We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."
“Aw-right," he said sleepily.
The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His
dancing heart was ready to jump from his body
The minutes were endless---ten, fifteen, he did not know how many---and he heard his father's
footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still.
"Rob!”
"Yes, Dad?”
"Thought you'd fool me, did you?” His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away
the covers.
"It's for Christmas, Dad!"
He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was
dark and they could not see each other's faces.
"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing--"
"Oh, Dad, I want you to know--l do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will. He
did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.
He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh what a
Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother
and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself.
"The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live"
Thanks For Visiting
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