(continued) 1:40 am Christmas Morning...during the unwrapping frenzy at the Dahlin house. While crumpled wrapping paper was whizzing overhead, Pinky was sitting in his large overstuffed chair busily cracking the nuts in his Christmas stocking and putting the shells in one of the ten ashtrays that decorated the eclectic living room comprised of "Early-American-Thrift."
Pinky shot up like the botched-launch of a missile fired from a submarine. Up he shot. Head dizzy from sedentary low blood pressure, the colossal human being spun on one leg as if he could come crashing down in any direction.
Leaning one way, the Wolf Pack made a mad scramble in the opposite direction to extricate themselves from the impact area of the seismic catastrophe. Then Pinky swayed the other direction which caused the troops to move again from one side of the room to the other. Like something out of a Three Stooges movie, this comical clambering took place three or four times before he finally blacked out and landed backwards into his chair with a giant crack that could be heard around the world. Cracked walnut and hazelnut shells scattered into the air like the fallout from a bomb and spread a layer on the wrapping paper and sifted through to the floor. "We didn't want that chair anyway" Gustav said mockingly.
Even though everyone was thankful that Pinky had finally landed, I was still freaked out about "The Hand" and Matilda was still clinging to dad's head with her tiny hands cupped over his squished eyes which made him navigate through the whole episode blind.Her leg caught the tinsel covered tree and knocked it over...into the center of living room adding to the clutter and chaos.
Mom made us sound off one by one until we had discovered that the youngest Dahlin was not accounted for. missing. Kjersten was gone! Panic ensued, fearing that the baby girl of the family had been killed in the latest calamity.
Mom prayed to Saint Anthony!
Dad barked out orders!
The boys shuffled their feet through the massive wrapping pile in hopes of stumbling across something solid that might be a body. Occasionally, words not authorized by the Catholic church were spewed by angry lips every time one of the older boys stepped on the sharp fragment of a hazelnut or walnut shell.
I pretended to look behind the couch from where I was perched, as though, what I was doing was important. I wasn't about to let the Zombie Hand of death grab my leg. When Pinky landed, I could see the scratch marks on his leg and knew that there was something hidden under the paper and I didn't want to find out what it was.
"The Hand" could help itself to one of the older boys for all I care, but not me. No sir, not me! I nearly died two months ago at McIlliot's pool and it was no fun. My leg still ached where they took the stitches out so I was not any any mood to let a monster kill me on Christmas day.
Mom solved the mystery of "The Christmas Boogie man" and "The lost little sister" when she found Kjersten under a pile of wrapping paper in tears. Turns out that Kjersten had gotten buried under the accumulating pile of rubble and was crawling underneath trying to find her way out. Groping about in the dark, she discovered Pinky's ankle and clung on as though her life depended up on it. Thankfully, when Pinky spun around, it flung Kjersten five feet away under the safety of the coffee table, which had been excavated by mom.
In "The wrapping paper debacle of '65" we had inadvertently scooped up the dog and threw it out with the trash. Since then, we have lost and broken many presents and lots of toys. Everyone was afraid that it wouldn't bode well for my parents if the local paper ran the story about child endangerment for throwing a kid away in the alley in a heap of multicolored wrapping paper.
This year though we lost only four presents, mainly because of the manhunt... we didn't, however, loose any children or throw away any pets. So all in all - other than the crushed chair and a downed Christmas tree it was a good Christmas at the Dahlin house We laughed and we sang and we were loud.
And one of the Blasers next door heard the raucous at our house, crumpled a wad of wrapping-paper, looked around carefully to make sure a parent wasn't watching and tossed the crumpled paper into the middle of the floor. The words weren't verbalized, but that particular Blazer was getting tired of normal and wished they could be a little more like the Dahlins.
We just came from church and the Priest read Luke 2:8-11 "And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord."
The way I look at things as a 12-year-old Religious-Philosopher was that if God could send His Son to earth to save people from their sins...then certainly he came to the right house. Surely there wasn't much good to be found in the Wolf Pack, so I figured that God should probably be down at the Lennon house looking for someone who did deserve to be saved - Lord knows we didn't.But then, maybe that's what love is all about. True love wasn't just loving those who loved you...but loving those who don't care about you, loving those who hung you on a cross and loving people despite the fact that they hate you. God's love is perfect in that it loves those that don't deserve it. I guess that's what unconditional love is all about.
And that is the message of Christmas - The One true God of the universe, Maker of all things - never giving up on us - relentlessly perusing us with His Love - even when we don't do a darned thing to earn one bit of it.
And maybe - just maybe, there is a little bit of Dahlin in all of us...and maybe not everyone is as normal or a perfect as we think! Merry Christmas
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