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Christmas Morning
© 2024 by Walter Reimer
Jack returned from a predawn call of nature and paused in the bedroom doorway, smiling as he saw his wife still sleeping in the gloom. Emma needed the rest, because it was going to be a busy day. He moved as quietly as he could, slipping on his bathrobe before leaving their bedroom.
As he walked slowly down the stairs, his memory reminded him of similar days over the years . . .
“OW!”
His yelp had nearly destroyed the silence of the early morning, and he started hopping up and down on his left foot, hand grasping the right foot as he made his way to his easy chair and hoping there were no other obstacles in the way. Flopping into the chair, Jack massaged his aching foot before switching on the lamp and surveying the living room floor.
Bits and fragments littered the hardwood floor and the rug in the center, promising pain to whatever unwary person placed his or her foot without looking where they were going . . .
Remembering made him step a little livelier.
Jack grinned at the memory as he saw a dim light coming from under the kitchen door. He eased the door open and whispered, “Morning, Tom,” as his son turned and nodded at him.
“Hi, Dad,’ Tom said. Like his father, he was wearing pajamas and a bathrobe. “Coffee will be ready soon.”
“Great.” He took a seat at the kitchen table as the coffee maker started a steady stream of coffee into the carafe. “You’re up early.”
Tom gave a quiet chuckle. “I figured I’d get up and get ready. Tom Junior and Carrie are still asleep.”
“So far.”
“Yeah, so far. Mary’s still asleep – at least, she was when I came downstairs.”
“Good.” The carafe was full, so both men poured mugs of the brew and resumed their seats at the table. Jack blew across the liquid’s surface, took a long sip and said, “I was just remembering.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. In fact, I’ll bet you a dollar that nobody will be able to walk barefoot across the living room two hours after the kids start opening presents.”
Tom lowered his mug and coughed, muffling the sound with his hand before he said, “Oh come on. They’re not that bad.”
“You’re their father, and yes, you were that bad.” Jack grinned and sipped at his coffee. “I still recall when we got you that chemistry set. We opened it and took out everything dangerous, and you still managed to blow something up.”
“It was outside,” Tom said defensively, “and that tree stump had to go anyway.” The two men, father and son, sat and chuckled for a moment. “Still, I had a lot of fun.”
“Those little plastic blocks, though . . . “
“Yeah, those hurt. Still do, when the kids leave them out on the floor.” Tom got up to refill his mug and stirred sugar into the coffee as he looked at the clock over the pantry closet. “Mary asked me to wake her up at six.”
“Your mother didn’t leave a wakeup time,” Jack said, “but six is about right. Feed the kids first, before presents?”
“Just like always.” The two men eased out of the kitchen and through the dining room to the living room, and Jack’s free hand brushed across a wall switch.
The tree lit up, the number of lights on it almost bright enough to read by. It stood sentinel over a sea of gaily wrapped boxes and brightly colored gift bags.
Father and son stood and looked at the tree for a moment, recalling family Christmases over the years.
Jack placed his free hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Son.”
Tom smiled. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”
end
© 2024 by Walter Reimer
Jack returned from a predawn call of nature and paused in the bedroom doorway, smiling as he saw his wife still sleeping in the gloom. Emma needed the rest, because it was going to be a busy day. He moved as quietly as he could, slipping on his bathrobe before leaving their bedroom.
As he walked slowly down the stairs, his memory reminded him of similar days over the years . . .
“OW!”
His yelp had nearly destroyed the silence of the early morning, and he started hopping up and down on his left foot, hand grasping the right foot as he made his way to his easy chair and hoping there were no other obstacles in the way. Flopping into the chair, Jack massaged his aching foot before switching on the lamp and surveying the living room floor.
Bits and fragments littered the hardwood floor and the rug in the center, promising pain to whatever unwary person placed his or her foot without looking where they were going . . .
Remembering made him step a little livelier.
Jack grinned at the memory as he saw a dim light coming from under the kitchen door. He eased the door open and whispered, “Morning, Tom,” as his son turned and nodded at him.
“Hi, Dad,’ Tom said. Like his father, he was wearing pajamas and a bathrobe. “Coffee will be ready soon.”
“Great.” He took a seat at the kitchen table as the coffee maker started a steady stream of coffee into the carafe. “You’re up early.”
Tom gave a quiet chuckle. “I figured I’d get up and get ready. Tom Junior and Carrie are still asleep.”
“So far.”
“Yeah, so far. Mary’s still asleep – at least, she was when I came downstairs.”
“Good.” The carafe was full, so both men poured mugs of the brew and resumed their seats at the table. Jack blew across the liquid’s surface, took a long sip and said, “I was just remembering.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. In fact, I’ll bet you a dollar that nobody will be able to walk barefoot across the living room two hours after the kids start opening presents.”
Tom lowered his mug and coughed, muffling the sound with his hand before he said, “Oh come on. They’re not that bad.”
“You’re their father, and yes, you were that bad.” Jack grinned and sipped at his coffee. “I still recall when we got you that chemistry set. We opened it and took out everything dangerous, and you still managed to blow something up.”
“It was outside,” Tom said defensively, “and that tree stump had to go anyway.” The two men, father and son, sat and chuckled for a moment. “Still, I had a lot of fun.”
“Those little plastic blocks, though . . . “
“Yeah, those hurt. Still do, when the kids leave them out on the floor.” Tom got up to refill his mug and stirred sugar into the coffee as he looked at the clock over the pantry closet. “Mary asked me to wake her up at six.”
“Your mother didn’t leave a wakeup time,” Jack said, “but six is about right. Feed the kids first, before presents?”
“Just like always.” The two men eased out of the kitchen and through the dining room to the living room, and Jack’s free hand brushed across a wall switch.
The tree lit up, the number of lights on it almost bright enough to read by. It stood sentinel over a sea of gaily wrapped boxes and brightly colored gift bags.
Father and son stood and looked at the tree for a moment, recalling family Christmases over the years.
Jack placed his free hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Son.”
Tom smiled. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”
end
Category Story / Human
Species Human
Gender Male
Size 52 x 120px
File Size 60.6 kB
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