Dear Friends, this is a rough draft of a new story I have been working on this holiday season. I hope you enjoy it. Most of all, it is my wish that you have a great Christmas!
Love, Live and Laugh Even More - Tommy
Next Stop, Bethlehem
The other day, while dashing through the snow filled streets, I got a flat tire. Needless to say I was not ready to include this added expense to my already growing seasonal act of maxing out my credit cards as I seek to promote good will with my gift list. Truth be told, this yearly act helps make the season less bright.
So not wasting any time I took my four aging Kojak bald tires to the repair shop and plopped down a sum that I would have rather used to secure a plane ticket out of this winter wonderland.
This is a common practice among those of us who live in the world of check to check. Items that must be dealt with as they ascend rapidly to the top of the list with no effort at all are always compared with something else we would rather be spending our cash. It could something as simple as a lost ticket at a parking ramp, “Well, that could have been a nice dinner at San Chez” to an unexpected crown for your tooth being equated with a weeklong lake front vacation home rental. To the paycheck challenged our lives are in constant comparison flux hell.
So after standing in a long line with the rest of the folks who were also seeking to ensure a skid free safe passage out of the city this holiday season, the attendant heralded the tidings of great joy.
"How do I say this but we are kind of backed up," the short gnome like attendant announced, "It will be at least an hour. This is a busy time of the year for us people."
I was biting back a smart comment about their need to step it up like his relatives in the North Pole. He needed to understand the need for speed and my desire to get my sleigh back up and running.
But all I could squeak out was a simple “Thanks.” Why blow it this close to Christmas?
As I crossed the street to the bakery I began to think about the reason for the season. How could I forget as I am reminded every few miles as I drive to my parent’s home each year. Frankenmuth, just North of my hometown of Flint, is also home to Bronner’s, THE WORLD’S LARGEST CHRISTMAS STORE, who has made it very clear with billboard after billboard that lines the highway with the words CHRISTmas WONDERLAND.
But here I am mid list at the end of the shopping season questioning the very story that we will be asked to honor at some point and in some fashion.
As I enter the bakery, one of the high tech joys of this shop is the ability to offer free wireless service. Some how Starbucks has not figured out how to offer it for free and thus one more reason not to like the Black Oil of Seattle’s reign.
Here I wander about like some crazed man, as my eyes never rise above a crotch height level. Most folks with a laptop understand this moment and have also been witnessed to the many folks who do not understand this quest for firepower. I am just glad today to find this place rather empty and an available power outlet.
Having plugged in I am ready to begin to work and make the most of this downtime. The road outside may have set me back but now I was on the super information highway clipping along at speeds generally reserved for gazelles.
And then the realization set in that I had nothing really pressing to do as my fingers were free to wander click by click to wherever my heart desired.
I did what most anyone would do when bored and launch the Google home page and type out some random interesting topic and let the journey begin.
I was just beginning to type my search of Bethleham when my phone rang. The caller id read Mom but I knew otherwise.
Yes, it was mom but it was December 23 Mom, the version of mother that like clock work calls to inquire what I want for Christmas. Hello Tommy Boy,” she greets me while making a reference to a oft viewed Chris Farley film, “I was just wondering what you want for Christmas this year?" Same line, it was just a different year.
Having resisted back at the tire store, I decided family does not count in these matters and I let it rip. "Oh, I was hoping for a Francis Francis espresso machine from Italy. It usually takes about 2-4 weeks to get it here."
"Well, well don't we have fancy tastes,” she wittily replies, “I guess we’ll have to wait and see if it is in Santa's bag this year."
In other words Mom is saying the only thing that is fat besides Santa is Chance in this case.
Having been beaten back down I softly say, “You do not need to get me anything. I’ll see you Christmas Eve. Bye.”
“Ok, see you then but don’t forget we are planning on visiting the Live Manger again this year. It is a family tradition. Don’t be late, son. Buh bye.” And then she was gone.
But so was I, because I had forgotten about this messed up tradition. Every year of my life my family has always bundled us up, equally packed us up like sardines and then drove to the inner city of Flint to a church parking lot that had been converted into a what most people would swear to be a replica of the birthplace of the Christ child.
Worst shows have closed on Broadway mid-performance but this one keeps plugging along with the same audio track that all the live silent actors move about to as they recreate this story.
Angels appear on the rooftop of the manger and open their mouths to sing the great tidings of joy, but nothing comes out of their mouth. Only the tidings of steam trail out of the angels clearly indicating not a virgin birth but that they were freezing their asses’ off on the top of a roof.
They spare no expense in this production, which includes a few live animals, a generous make up budget and even stadium speakers to broadcast this strictly by the tape program.
I think it was some where around my mid thirties that I noticed something I never noticed before. While most nativity sets in America include the wise men, this live nativity pageant play included a white man in black face makeup.
Between laughter and horror I found myself involuntarily asking out loud to no one in particular the question, “We are in downtown Flint and this church cannot find one African American to play this role?”
“Refill, sir,” the server inquired as I was transported back to present time and space.
The Google home page glowed on my screen as the blinking cursor invited me to wander. Thinking of time ago I began to wonder about the idea of a pregnant woman with a man who was not the father of her child being led on a donkey to a far off city only to discover there were no rooms.
I pictured myself as Joseph and wondered if I would have fared any better. In all reality, Joseph could have been gay given that most straight men would have a hard time settling down with a woman who’s previous lover was a real God. The performance anxiety alone would be too much for any straight husband to endure. So my coming to this conclusion is not too hard to understand with my revisionist vision of these events.
Before you begin casting stones, I feel what Joseph did regards of his sexuality was one of the noblest things a man could do. Most times the gay man is just called in to dance with the wife of the man who will not get funky on the dance floor.
I do not remember hearing if Jesus had any siblings. Surely if one of my own family members were in jail, I would visit and at least make one of the four books to record this history. But there really is nothing.
And what if Jesus’ silence on gay people was because he knew his stepfather was gay. Most times people who know someone who is gay tend to react more lovingly than those who do not. The only clue we have of Jesus’ paternal father is that he claims to be God’s only son. Joseph in silence served his purpose on the dance floor of dirt.
So I put myself in Joseph shoes and imagined a modern virgin birth. I imagined packing for the trip, arriving two hours for my international flight and checking in to our room in Bethlehem.
And then my cursor caught my eye. Of course, if Joseph were alive today at this very moment and faced with joining the throng of people also seeking passage during this season he would no doubt use an online booking agent.
Wasting no time I typed Bethlehem atTravelocity.com and entered in two people, one child, one night. Let's see, I want to check in December 24 and check out December 25. I was giddy at the idea that had Joseph had this technology how much nicer things would have been for Mary that celestial night.
Suddenly a brief flash and the screen announce in 5 seconds I would be transported to my list of area hotels to select from.
And just like so many years ago the screen presented hotel after hotel all with the same message for my heavenly party, and me "We're sorry, there is no availability to match your request."
I wonder if Mary would rather visit South Beach this Christmas?
©Tommy Allen, 2005
No comments:
Post a Comment