Christmas Memories of the Captain

We've all heard the stories of the Christmas tree fights that children remember for a lifetime. Tensions build and the Norman Rockwell family has a mishap as they buy or set up or decorate the tree. Children remember it forever, into adulthood and beyond. Some feel stomach-churning anxiety every time the hoped-for perfection of Christmas is threatened by a bad mood, an insecure thought, a flopped cake or a failed shopping expedition for the must-have gift.

And then there are those rare breeds who thrive inexplicably at Christmas. The non-Norman Rockwells with the romantic hearts who love their families and love Christmas, come hell or high water. There are scrooges who bloom. Couples who live close to the bone suddenly throw caution to the wind. Holiday adrenaline torques things up. The shared delirium of a few shopping sprees enhances camaraderie. Eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we die-et! Santa Claus is coming to town.

In our family, Christmas never failed. One of the best parts of Christmas was how the man of the house loved Christmas and gave it his all. Dad was a sea captain, and a handsomer sea captain there never was. He was strong as an ox and funny as a clown. He loved to make magic. Once he climbed up on the snowy roof when the kids were asleep on Christmas Eve, and "dropped" a wrapped present up there, the ribbon hanging down from the roof outside the living room window, just where the kids would see it when they first woke up. I'll never forget the look on their faces when dad said "Uh-oh, look, Santa dropped something!"

We used to take our five kids to Storybookland at Christmas, to see the displays, pet the lambs, ride the rides, see Santa. One of my favorite moments with the captain happened there one cold Christmas evening while we watched the kids riding on teacups. A deserted life-size manger scene was off to one side, with a small soft spotlight shining on the straw around. A lone young duck, still clothed in his yellow fuzz, picked around in the straw by the manger, calm, content, nearly silent, well out of view of the teeming masses in the park, and from any other ducks. The captain leaned over to me as I watched the kids, and called my attention to the deserted creche. "That must be a special duck" he said. I'll never forget that holy duck, pecking gently in the softly lit straw.

All year long he brought home things from the sea to fascinate us all. In the clam dredge at the back of his hundred foot long boat, he found fossilized mastodon teeth and tusks, caribou antler, and rocks and stones from ancient times. Officials from the Smithsonian, and editors from National Geographic, came to visit us at the shore, to examine the piles of fossils in our basement. They took away a few bones and sent us back plaster cast reproductions of them months later, with a letter of acknowledgement for the captain. Regarding the human cranium among the bones, the Smithsonian folks said "probably a drunken sailor from a day gone by, fallen overboard while singing a song of the sea".

My sea captain husband also brought home live creatures from the sea for our children. Some we ate: scallops, lobster, cod. Some tired or wounded creatures were rescued at sea and given brief respite at our house before being set free again. How many kids you know took two live sawhet owls in a shopping bag to school for show and tell? Who else has had a live osprey in a box on their dining room table for a day or a barn owl in a clam cage on the front lawn when they woke up? Once when we had a beach grill business, the captain, with his bare hands, carried a live full-grown sea turtle into the kitchen at 6:30 AM while I was cooking bacon for the masses, and seemed to expect that we might be caught in flagrante delicto on top of the sea turtle, if only we had time. I was invited to kiss the sea turtle on the lips, as the captain had just done, but I demurred, sea turtles being carnivores and all.

We didn't have any problems at Christmas. We just had fun. We all had a particular giftedness and fondness for chaos. The decorations were full stop. Everybody got everything they ever wanted. Dad made wonderful toys from scratch and sanded and painted until they were perfect. Reggae Christmas, Elvis Christmas, Willie Nelson Christmas, all full volume. I danced around the kitchen while Elvis sang "Santa'll be comin' down your chimney tonight." Packages hung from the roof. Santa footprints of ash led across the carpet. Kids roller-skated through the house. Fossilized parts of ancient elephants adorned the bookshelves. Osprey feathers appeared randomly in corners. Birds dove through the chimney to gather bits. We laughed and loved. As he would hope we always will. So God rest his soul this Christmastime, and grant him, and all of us, peace.