Every Christmas since I was a boy, my dad grudgingly erected our nativity scene. A nine piece life-size plywood depiction of the first Christmas. One shepherd, three Wise Men, Joseph, Mary, Baby Jesus, a camel and one donkey. Sometimes also in attendance ( weather permitting ) were an assortment of snowmen all paying homage to the Baby Jesus.
Shining down on this first Christmas stood our Simpson Sears easy-to-assemble three-piece die cast metal "Merry Christmas" seasonal tower. Located between Merry and Christmas was a large screw-in 3000 Watt flood light. Like a shining star, it illuminated our families version of Bethlehem on that first Christmas night.
My mom was so proud of her front yard. She figured we were the best Christians on the block.
"Our nativity scene is a brilliant glowing testimony of what Christmas is all about" she'd say.
That was the first year.
Then came January and my dad ( who still believes his four boys, single handedly, caused global warming by constantly leaving the back door open ) got the electric bill for December.
Christmas next year was going to take on, as we say, a different light. Now my dad loved and kept the true meaning of Christmas in his heart every year. What he didn't love were large electric bills, or setting up of life sized Biblical characters in winter weather. And now added to the dislike list was the so called easy-to-assemble, three-piece die cast metal "Merry Christmas" seasonal tower, with it's electric sucking capabilities that made the grow-op down the street feel sorry for us.
"The neighbors know we're church-goers. We don't need a manger scene to prove it!" he'd complain. But every year my mom made him put it up. What changed on that second year and every year after was the number in front of watts on the face of the bulb between Merry and Christmas. What once was a bright and shining star wishing a Merry Christmas to neighbors near and far now was a forty-watt bulb, a bulb so dim that it oozed an eerie shadow of brown across nine unrecognizable plywood figures accompanied by piles of dark snow wearing what might be hats. The brilliant bright "Merry Christmas" easy-to-assemble three-piece die cast metal seasonal tower had now become a flight hazard known as "Erry Chri."
In the daytime it was still the best nativity scene in the neighborhood, but days are short in winter. Come 4 o'clock, that ghastly glow would soon cover our yard and an Erry Chri was all that was squeezed out of the night in our front yard.
My mom tried candles one year to brighten the scene, but the donkey caught fire and several snowmen were sacrificed to save the house.
It got so bad my friends started teasing me "Have an Erry Chri! Oh and a Py New Ye!" they'd taunt.
This lack of illumination brought on a crime spree of which I was also a part of. Points were assigned to the Shepard, camel, what was left of the donkey, and each of the three Wise Men. These points were collected by snowball strikes. A hit on the Shepard was worth more than on the camel but if either Mary or .'Baby Jesus were hit it was an eternity in the burning fires of he'll. A large price to pay for an errant snowball!
As years past, our plywood Biblical characters could no longer weather the elements. On Fathers Day ( some years sooner ) my dad got around to taking down the nativity scene. "The neighbors need to know we're church-goers and a manger scene proves it!" he'd say every month till June. So because of my dads testimony, and his lack of get around to it "Erry Chri" towered alone over an empty yard for many years.
But "Erry Chri's" dimly lit hope shone bright in my dad. When he shook your hand, looked you straight in the eye and with his million watt twinkle wished you a Merry Christmas you believed it would be.
Dad has now past on and I have inherited the easy-to-assemble three piece (which has become two because of rust and three coats of marine paint ) die cast metal, Merry Christmas by day and Erry Chri by night seasonal tower. But because of my back and sandy soil conditions the heavy old seasonal tower spends Christmas ( and every other day ) in the garage.
I asked my son if he could use old Erry Chri this Christmas. But he had just bought one of the new "Happy Holiday" inflatable snowman with the LED lights. A 8 ft. tall snowman on skis that sings Santa Clause is Coming to Town.
"Well" I said "it's in the garage behind the bikes, skis and exercise equipment ( that's suppose to fit easily under the bed ) if you need it."
He won't need it. His Happy Holiday inflatable singing snowman with energy -efficient lights is what he'll use every year. Besides everyone says Happy Holidays now.
So my now one-piece die cast metal "Erry Chri" seasonal tower will stay in the garage till my dying day for I'll never sell it for scrap metal. Those eight bleary letters from my childhood mean so very much to me. And for what it's worth I hope an Erry Chri shines brightly for you this season.
Bob Niles
604/271/8497
selinbob@gmail.com
bobniles@shaw.ca
Dear Editor
This is a short story i wrote of my childhood Christmas.
I submit it for your consideration.
From the desk of Bob Niles
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