UNEXPECTED CHRISTMAS
GUESTS
“Rising from the Ashes”
In 1964, I was in my early thirties and I was
living alone in a small room in a rundown house with no relatives of my own
within thousands of miles so it goes without saying that I hated Christmas. It
was that time of year when I and thousands upon thousands of other lonely
people living by themselves hoped that a family would adopt me on Christmas so
that the pain of loneliness would go away at least for one day of the year.
Well, I guess I could say that I nearly
did get adopted one Christmas day. A gentleman and his family, whom I met on
the beach several times during the previous summer, must have remembered me
because I got a phone call from the gentleman on the day before Christmas of that
year. I was asked if I was still living alone. I told him that I was. He asked,
“Would you like to spend Christmas Eve and all of Christmas Day and Boxing Day
in my home?”
Would I? Is the Pope Catholic? Both
questions are academic. I arrived at
their home in Forest Hill at seven in the evening as promised. And what a home it was. A high iron fence
surrounded the property and the driveway winded its way up a small hill and
past some trees to where the house was situated. House? Compared to where I was
living, it made the house where I had a room look like a hole in the ground
with a tarp over it.
My host met me at the door and shook my
hand vigorously and invited me in. There, standing just past the massive oak
door was his family—his wife and two children, the boy, age ten and the girl,
age fourteen. I felt like a light bulb just turned on—glowing and warm.
The gentleman began, “Danny. I want you
to think of our home for the next two days as your home. Help yourself to
anything you want in the fridge, turn on the TV and watch what you want and
drink whatever is in my liquor cabinet whenever you want.” Then his wife took
me upstairs and showed me where I would be sleeping in one of the guest rooms.
It had its own bathroom and that was the first time I had ever been that close
to a king-size bed. As I heard the children laughing downstairs, I had visions
of sitting at their huge dining room table and eating turkey and plum pudding
and even getting gifts. This was going to be a real Christmas for me. One I
hadn’t had since I was a child.
This was not to be. I discovered the horrible
truth as soon as I walked back into the foyer.
My host and his family where dressed for travel
and as I looked to him for an answer, he said, “Danny. My family and I are
visiting my parents a few hundred miles away this Christmas and we won’t be
back until the day after Christmas. I am grateful to you for coming over and
house-sitting our home. With someone in the house while we are gone, there is
less risk of vandals breaking in.”
I was totally devastated. I couldn’t
believe what was happening to me. They were deserting me and submitting me to
another Christmas of loneliness. At least in the past, I reduced some of the
pain of loneliness by talking to the waitresses in a restaurant after ordering
a turkey dinner. Now I couldn’t even do this.
As they put on their shoes, the
children cheerfully wished me a merry Christmas and my host’s wife kissed me on
my cheek and said softly, “You have a good time and remember, there is plenty
of food in the fridge for you.” I tried to smile and finally managed to get one
on my face, although my smile was as artificial as their friendship.
I saw them get into the car and then I
closed the door behind me and stared at the door thinking that I had to be the
biggest fool in town to think that that family or anyone else would care enough
to adopt a lonely man for Christmas.
The hours went by as I watched movies
after movies on TV and stuffed myself with food. As you may have guessed, there
was no turkey or plum pudding in the fridge. I finally went to bed and to sleep
to the sound of Christmas music coming from somewhere outside. Amongst all that
splendor, this was the worst Christmas Eve of my life.
I awoke at about nine the next morning.
I looked out the window. It was sunny
but judging from the way people on the street were bundled up, it must have
been bitterly cold. I saw children playing next door as they laughed and played
with their toboggan. I envied them. They had each other and their parents to
share their Christmas with. I had no one.
I made myself some bacon and eggs and
after breakfast, I pretended that the house was mine and that I was
entertaining my guests who had come to visit me in my splendid home.
Just
after eleven, I heard the chimes at the front door ring. Excitedly, I ran to
the door to see who it was. Anyone would do. I opened it and standing before me
was a family of four---two
adults and two children. The four were each carrying shopping bags filled to
the brims. It wasn’t the family that had
deserted me the day before. It was another family.
“Hello, Sir. I am Abraham
Goldstein.” “Damn!” I cursed myself for
opening the door in the first place “Another Jew to harass me.” I had just
previously worked for one and he fired me a month earlier and I was still
bitter from that experience.
“What do you want?” I asked in a
somewhat snarly voice.
He replied, “My family and I are
stranded in our car which is a short way down the street. It stopped suddenly and we can’t get it to go
again.”
“Do you wish me to call for a tow
truck?” I asked.
“I did it from a nearby pay phone.” He
replied.
“Then why are you here?” I asked
impatiently.
The man shuffled uneasily and then
said, “The tow truck firm said it will be several hours before they get here
and my children are cold and they have to go to the toilet. Could we stay in
your house until the tow truck arrives?”
I don’t know if I didn’t want him and his
family in the house for personal bigoted reasons or because I didn’t want
anyone in a house that was not mine but in any case I grudgingly let them into
the house and after they removed their shoes, I directed them to a doorway
leading to the basement. Having prowled the house the night before, I knew that
in the basement level there was a large family room and a bathroom adjoining
it. They could stay down there and wait for the tow truck, I mused to myself.
As we walked down the stairs, I didn’t
want the four of them to think that I was bigoted by not bringing them into the
living room so I said, “I am house sitting this house for a friend and his
family. I don’t think they will want anyone else in the house but I suppose
they won’t mind if you wait in the family room downstairs. There is a washroom
right next to it.”
“I understand.” replied the man. “We are
grateful to you that you have permitted us to stay in the basement of this
house out of the cold while we wait for the tow truck.” The rest of his family
mouthed similar words of appreciation.
I deliberately removed the towels and face
cloths from the washroom as I didn’t want them being soiled by anyone…at least
I think that was the reason. In any case, I turned to the man and said, “Give
me the phone number of the tow truck firm and I will tell him to meet you
here.” He gave me the number and then I left them alone in the family room
while I went upstairs to make the call.
As the hours went by, I heard
them singing Christmas carols and other songs such as Jingle Bells and White
Christmas. They were obviously having a marvelous time by themselves with their
singing and laughing. I thought it odd that they were singing Christmas carols
considering that they were Jews but I later learned why. I, on the other hand,
while stretched out in the comfort of a large chesterfield in the living room
with the fire in the huge hearth warming me up while I sipped brandy, ate
cookies and watched TV, was still terribly alone. I resented the Jews in the
basement. They were having too good a time and I had no one to share my
Christmas with at all. At least they had each other whereas I had only
myself—and I was bad company at that.
The tow truck driver eventually phoned
and said that he would be there in about five minutes so I opened the basement
door and yelled, “He’s here!” The family came up the stairs and walked into the
foyer. As they put on their shoes, the man thanked me for my kindness and I
relied, “Yeah, yeah.” as if to say, “Leave, will you?”
I wanted them to share some of the
misery I was suffering so I said in a smooth sarcastic voice, “I’m sorry there
were no towels for you to dry your hands on.”
“Oh, that’s OK” chimed in one of the
children. “We dried our hands on a white tablecloth in the family room.” The
other child cut in, “Shh.”
As soon as the four of them stepped
outside, I slammed the door shut and bolted down the stairs to the basement and
within seconds, I was in the family room and there on the small table was the
white tablecloth the child spoke of; without
a spot on it. But in the middle of it, was something wrapped in deep red
cellophane. And on top of it was a piece of paper in which Abraham Goldstein
had written;
“I want to thank you on behalf of my
family and myself for the kindness you showed us by inviting complete strangers
into your home. We were in need and you were there for us. We are Jews for
Jesus and we wanted to ask you to come downstairs and join us in our singing of
Christmas carols and other music of the season but we decided against it
because you appeared to be upset because of our unexpected arrival and
intrusion into your privacy and we didn’t want to ruin your Christmas morning
any more than we already had. As a token of our appreciation however, we have
left you a small gift as we have more of this than we need. Again, our
sincerest thanks.”
It was a plum pudding.
Regretfully, I never met that family
again.
The following year, I met a black friend
I hadn’t seen for a while and during Christmas Eve; he invited me to his home
for Christmas. I am Caucasian and I didn’t know how receptive his large family
would be to me, with me coming over for Christmas as an unexpected guest.
His family adopted me that Christmas
and every Christmas after that for the next nine years until I married and had
a family of my own to share my Christmas’ with.
I learned a valuable lesson on that Christmas
day so long ago, that day I received those four unexpected guests. That was the
day that I had mistreated that beautiful family so miserably, a day in which I
should have opened my heart to them instead of just the door to the basement.
The lesson I learned was ----‘Loneliness
is brought upon us entirely by ourselves because no one in this day and age
should have to experience Christmas alone. We can always find someone to share
it with—even if it is a homeless person or someone living alone, irrespective
of that person’s religion, colour or standing in the community. Sharing our
Christmas with others adds to the joy of the season.’
By the way, despite my being alone
that Christmas so many years ago, there was one bright spot during that occasion
for me to fondly remember. The plum pudding left for me by my unexpected guests
tasted so grand.
_______________
No comments:
Post a Comment