A Christmas Miracle!

As I’ve said many, many times before to almost everyone I meet, I’m a kind man… A good man… The kind of man who would give you the shirt off his back (for a small price of course). I enjoy the simpler things in life… such as a child’s laughter, a teenager’s laughter, a fully grown adult’s laughter, and the laughter of an old person. That brings me to my Christmas tradition.

Every Christmas Eve, myself and a group of people from the First Bethesda Church down the street join together in a Christmas fellowship as we dress in our finest, festive garb and make our way out to the Country Cottageville Nursing Home where we do our annual Christmas caroling to bring joy to the elderly hearts that reside there. It’s a truly magnificent experience and to see their faces light up with glee as we belt out our favorite Christmas tunes is priceless. As a part of my caroling tradition, I also bring my famous home-made caramels. These large cubic hunks of caramel goodness are enough to put a smile on anyone’s face, not to mention leave them cheerfully chewing for hours! Plus, I know how old folks love their caramels. Or at least I assume they do.

Our visit this year was especially joyful and Christmassy. We arrived at the nursing home right around 6:30 pm, right as the old crustaceans were finishing up their evening meal. We sat down to partake in the meal ourselves, but the food was much to my disliking and I bitterly sent it back, shouting harsh words at the confused woman that had brought me the tray. I was just thinking of storming back into the kitchen to have words with the cook, when my group (who had apparently finished their meal gratefully) stated that it was time to get on with the caroling. I was willing to put my rage over the atrocious meal on hold… for now.

We entered the first room, all of us eager to get the show on the road. The first room featured a bitter old hag of a woman that seemed no more grateful to hear us singing than I was for being fed pig slop in the cafeteria. We sang an unenthusiastic rendition of "Silent Night" and walked out of the room. No caramels for the wicked witch of room 114. I did however "accidentally" knock over a vase of flowers on my way out of the room and then quickly slam the door behind me before anyone heard the shattering of glass.

Our next room was worlds better than the first. We encountered an old, bearded man dressed in red who very closely resembled Jolly ol’ Saint Nick, sitting delicately in an easy chair by the window. We sang him three carols flawlessly and during the fourth, I approached the man and sprang onto his lap to tell him what I wanted for Christmas. He flatulated violently as I landed on his lap and then appeared to gag and pass out, but I’m sure he was just drifting off into some jolly Christmas dream. I stood up, put a caramel into the man’s mouth and followed my bewildered group of carolers out of the room.

For about half an hour we caroled uneventfully and I was beginning to get bored. We entered a smaller room where a little old woman lay in her bed with untouched food on a tray in front of her. As my jolly caroling crew started to sing "The Little Drummer Boy", I plopped down onto the bed next to the old woman and started shoveling glob after piping hot glob of what resembled au gratin potatoes into her gaping mouth. By the time I was done spooning food from the tray, there was probably more smeared on her face than in her mouth, the messy old mothergoose! But I could tell by her muffled groans and bloodshot eyes that she was stuffed. And grateful!!

Next, we came to an area where a very old gentleman was receiving a sponge bath. As my merry troop began to sing, I decided that instead of just another song, I would help this poor old man in a different and better way. As the sound of "Deck the Halls" rang out from the lungs of my companions, I gently took the sponge from the nurse and proceeded to give the old man a good sponging. I softly sang the chorus of "White Christmas" directly into the man’s ear as I scrubbed and scoured through even the deepest of nooks, crannies, crevices, and folds. I could tell by the man’s hysterical tears (of joy) that he had been filled with the Christmas spirit. I stuffed a large caramel in between the man’s quivering lips and walked away, my group following me, whispering and eyeing me strangely. No doubt they were jealous of my generous nature and quick thinking.

Finally, we came to our last room of the night. The woman within was brutally old. Possibly the oldest person in the hospital, if not the world. She lay there on the bed, hooked up to life support, tubes and wires protruding from all over her face and body. My desire to give this old woman a joyous Christmas surpassed all the other inhabitants of this ancient nursing home. From my duffel bag, I produced a small CD player. I desperately searched the room for an electrical socket, but the only one I found in the entire room was right next to the bed where the decrepit old woman lay, and it was packed full of plugs of many colors and sizes. I made a mental note to replug everything after we were done singing and I yanked out every last plug, leaving far more space than I needed for my one stereo, but better safe than sorry. I heard a click and the loud humming that had filled the room stopped. "Good!" I thought to myself. "This will make it easier to hear our beautiful Christmas caroling." As we began to sing, the old flapper appeared to drift into a deep, peaceful, Christmassy sleep. Softly, so as not to wake her, I slipped a caramel into the old woman’s mouth and gently moved her jaw up and down in a chewing motion so she would have delicious, caramel-filled, Christmas dreams. An amazing end to a joyous, festive night.

I received a letter in the mail today, asking me not to come back next year. I can only assume that it’s because I brought such joy to those old boilers’ hearts that they all miraculously recovered and aren’t in any need of a nursing home anymore. It’s a Christmas miracle!!!