a gift i should've given when i had the chance

I never asked him directly but I could tell from an early age, Christmas was my father's favorite time of the year. I, on the other hand, can't remember the last time I loved Christmas. I'm maudlin that way.

No. I was conditioned that way. For the most part. I don't know why receiving gifts always pained me. I remember, however, the felling of failure every time a recipient opened my gift. I was always a terrible gift-giver. I'm worse than your Great-Aunt Irene. But not for lack of trying.

I wouldn't mis-gift you in such a way that conveyed an utter lack of knowing you. But I am the sort of person, however, who would be slightly off the mark--to varying degrees. For example, I might buy you an Underworld CD when all you listen to is Carrie Underwood. "U" names can be confusing, eh?

So I fail. And I can tell by that dead look in your eyes. That tone of your voice. That stiffness of you hug. And I hate the occasion. The mandatory ritual of Christians and their non-practicing siblings. And I do as I've done for every Christmas I can remember. I cry just a little bit over my failure to live up to the blessed happiness my father always expected of my brother and me on this joyful day.

(My brother performed his inexplicable pain a bit differently that I. The last time I spent Christmas at my parents' house, my brother caused four accidents in three different cars in one day. And he overdosed. And he shooed away the paramedics and the sheriff who answered my mother's call. It's just his way of dealing.)

Today was my first Christmas without my father. Oh, I've spent Christmas away from him before. But today is the first Christmas he hasn't lived to experience. I did my best, Dad. I went to our friends' house and celebrated the day with friends and the families of friends. I applauded a four-year-old girl who sang and danced to Christmas carols. I made funny faces for a two-year-old who looked through binoculars the 'wrong' way. I taught a three-year-old how to pedal a bike.

I think I did everything that you always hoped to see. I helped create moments of bliss for the little ones in my life. I took part in a day that is designated for happiness. A happiness that neither you nor I could ever achieve--but you always had faith in and anticipated with such childlike fervor.

I promise to try and love my days the way you loved those moments around the tree. And I'll try to forgive my brother and me the trouble we caused when we thought we'd never be what you wanted us to be. I'm pretty sure this will be the best gift I've ever given you. Maybe even the best gift I'll ever give.