Hey, Dad. I was going to write to you a few days ago to finish the Twelve Days of Christmas series on my blog, but after reading my wife’s wonderful letter to you I originally decided that was a fitting end.
A few days later, I decided that I needed to write to you. There were a few sad moments on Christmas, but it wasn’t as difficult as I anticipated in the weeks leading up to the big day.
I find it ironic that you lived much of your life like a hermit, morphing into an extrovert when you had to work. It was fascinating to see you flip the switch and entertain people at craft shows and ultimately become a beloved and respected member of that circuit.
I was reminded of that irony throughout the series as people we’ve never met liked, commented and sent messages about many of the Twelve Days blogs. In particular, many were moved by Part VI, which was a blog I’d written a year ago on the day you’d told us you had six months to live.
That was one of many incredibly difficult days in the final eight months of your life. But there were plenty of good days, too. What I didn’t write about, or haven’t yet, is the hours I spent interviewing you.
It was during those times that I learned about a life on the run, years battling plenty of demons and a final 45 years that most folks would envy. The prison system should have used you as a spokesperson, though I’m not sure they’d appreciate the always colorful vocabulary.
I’m writing today because I wanted to say “Thank you.”
When I came up with the idea to write a Twelve Days of Christmas, I quickly scribbled down a schedule for what I was going to write. It really wasn’t a well-laid plan. In fact, I ended up scrapping several of them.
Each night, I’d sit down and look at the schedule. Several times I decided that that topic either sucked or I wasn’t interested in writing about it. I discovered in the first few days that it was far more interesting, and a hell of a lot more fun, to scroll through a personal rolodex of memories.
When I didn’t like what I had on the schedule, which happened on at least eight of the 12 blogs, I started from the first Christmas I could remember at age 5 and went year by year. That meant I got to think about nearly 40 incredible holidays, typically built around the old man.
I picked the story about Grandma staying with us because it’s really the only positive memory I have of her, beyond some of the stories you told me. As I was writing it, I realized that we all have a side we should be celebrated and remembered for.
The second blog, about stealing quarters for the arcade, was always on the list. For starters, I loved working at the Columbia Mall with you. Secondly, your words of wisdom about being a man of your word are but a sample of the thousands of anecdotes many in the family continue to use.
As I continued to go off-script, I thought about Principal Hough and how devastating his murder was to all of us. The next night, as I struggled with writer’s block, I looked up at our tree and found inspiration in a 34-year-old, poorly-made ornament from my days in the Boy Scouts, triggering memories of Christmas with Mom.
Like any writer, I had filler, of course. Day Five was a top 10 gifts. As I wrote that, I realized how lucky we were growing up. There are millions of kids who don’t get anything, and I had a top 10 with plenty of other items that could have made the list.
Day Six and 11 were filler in that I’d written the blogs months ago. I always knew I’d publish them after you passed, and this series was the perfect time to share them. Day 11 was written on Christmas 2018, a few hours after I’d arrived home after watching you struggle for hours to put on a brave face.
Part Seven might have been my favorite. That was written on a night that I could not think of anything to write. I ended up thinking about your best friend Danny, and the blog took off from there.
In the next three writings, I shared stories about your grandkids, flirting with my wife a few weeks before we became an item and the magic of believing in Santa Claus.
You’ve probably read all of these. I know you’re around. I’ve dreamed of you several times, including multiple times this month. I’m 100 percent certain I felt your presence in the shop as I made belts for the Mound City show in October, which will no doubt be a blog on another day.
It’s a long-winded thank you. But I wanted you and the people reading this to know how much it means that Dan and I, as well as the rest of your family, have all of these memories about Christmas. Memories that will last much longer than 12 days.