Twas’ the Night Before Christmas Eve
A Daughter’s Nightmare
With arms and legs flailing, I shouted, “Don’t make me go into that black car.”
I hit, screamed, and kicked, but he forced me into the car anyway while staring down at my panic-stricken face. My tiny brown eyes darted, searching for a way out.
It was the day after Christmas, December 26, 1958. I was nine years old. The car was a black limo, first in line in the funeral procession for my father. The man was the undertaker, and I was terrified.
Was it just three days ago that I was in another black car, my dad’s jeep, riding on the front fender? Or was it a lifetime ago when I climbed up in the front seat next to him, thrilled to be on Christmas Vacation? I was even more thrilled to be going to work with him at the Landscape Nursery.
I can almost hear him whistling holiday tunes and shouting “Merry Christmas” while tying Christmas trees on the rooftops of his customer’s cars. I was a happy little girl feeling the anticipation of Christmas presents to come. My dad gave me spending money to buy a little plastic nativity set and two green sparkly gnome ornaments, my treasures to this day.
What should have been the ending of a perfect father/daughter day became a day that quickly unraveled like the ribbons on a Christmas…
