The door opened, and wind extended snowflakes blow in from the porch. “Good Christmas morning to you,” came the strong voice of the man. As he unwrapped his face, covered with the wool scarf, I knew it wasn’t Daddy. It was Mr. Thompson, our neighbor who lives down the road toward town.
“How you doing, Tad, on this cold, frosty morning? Has Santa gotten here yet? Don’t worry if he hasn’t, because he asked me to bring some things by for you and your mom. It snowed more than a foot last night, making it hard for those reindeer of his to get to all the rooftops.”
I was disappointed it wasn’t Daddy, but glad to hear a cheerful voice and to know that there would be some presents. Mommy must have forgotten about Christmas because we didn’t put up a tree or decorate the house with lights like last year. Daddy and I had gone to a pasture near the tank and chopped a tall green tree that we brought back to the house in the pickup. Then we decorated the porch and the mailbox and put bright lights with a golden star on the green Christmas tree.
“Tad, where is your mother?” asked Mr. Thompson. “Is she still feeling poorly?”
Just as he spoke these words, Mother appeared from the bedroom. She was beautiful. Her robe was old and green, but her hair was long and yellow. Her face appeared swollen, and her eyes were streaked with red. She tried to smile but could only play pretend. “Good morning, Mr. Thompson. So nice of you to call. I have not been feeling very well lately. Guess I must be coming down with a cold.”