Be there for Christmas
She was probably in her late 30s. Her nondescript jeans rode the tops of her tennis shoes. Her light brown hair was straight and parted down the middle. She showed up at the Christmas carnival with her two sons, who were probably 8 and 10. She kept a hand on each of their shoulders while they signed in. Clearly, she wasn’t there for social interaction. She was there for her boys.
Their path brought them into my proximity. I said hello. She responded politely and we chatted a moment, but she kept an eye on her sons while we talked. They were moving from one group activity to another in the large fellowship hall at the Ft. Clayton Army chapel in Panama.
After appropriate small talk, she politely disengaged and went to shadow her children, making eye contact and quietly encouraging the younger one to take part with the others. She and the older boy were more like equals, giving and receiving quiet nods here and there as he made his way around the room, hooking candy canes on a fishing pole and placing Bible figures on a felt storyboard.
I don’t know what her husband did, though she mentioned his job had brought them to Panama. I suppose he was a consultant of some kind, there to fulfill a mission I knew nothing about. Her mission was clear. She was there for her boys.
I saw her again the following week. We had some type of “women’s” gathering at the chapel. It was fine, though dressing up for appetizers and polite conversation always left me fumbling. I believe there was a craft, something to do with ribbon. At some point we broke into small groups. She ended up in mine.
We talked about Christmas traditions. The list was warm and predictable—stuffing a turkey, reading Luke chapter 2 by the fireplace, opening one special gift on Christmas Eve. (I don’t think matching family pajamas were in vogue yet.)
In the only time I saw her face open up, she explained that she and her boys would spend Christmas Eve delivering anonymous gifts. One of the boys would set a bag filled with candy and toys on someone’s front porch, then the other would ring the doorbell and they would all three run away before the recipients got to the door. The best kind
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