Ho, Ho, Ho Baby Jesus
Inspired by a real display in my neighborhood:
Happy Christmas, Baby Jesus
History has a way of bouncing, rolling, depending on who is in power.
The powerful, he knew, got to re-write history.
But he stood there in the snowfall, spindrift swirling around his stopped frame, and contemplated the scene.
He was positive that penguins in jolly hats and scarves were not present at the birth of Christ.
He was pretty sure the Wise Men did not include lit snowmen – twin Frosty’s, one in mid-wave. That the manger wasn’t lit by blinking candy canes and Rudolph’s red nose, but by a star that called shepherds near and far.
And speaking of shepherds, he was sure Santa wasn’t one of them even if he was there too, sitting on a haybale, windblown as he was, looking like he’s swallowed a couple of vodka tonics. Red nose, indeed.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph” he thought, as the Baby was swaddled only in a blanket of snow.
He took out his mobile, took picture after picture, capturing the scene as it blinked and flashed, a faint hum from the compressors that kept one Frosty and Rudolph inflated, thus upright.
He took several of himself, the whole scene a backdrop.
Uploaded the photos at home, scanned them, chose the best, happiest shot. Wrote a holiday note that started with, “Happy Christmas, Baby Jesus, from all of us at the trailer park…”
But at the last minute, he chickened out.
Most of his friends were as sarcastic as he, hard-hardened by life, and would have gotten the joke.
But Grammy, she was another matter.
Happy Christmas, Baby Jesus
History has a way of bouncing, rolling, depending on who is in power.
The powerful, he knew, got to re-write history.
But he stood there in the snowfall, spindrift swirling around his stopped frame, and contemplated the scene.
He was positive that penguins in jolly hats and scarves were not present at the birth of Christ.
He was pretty sure the Wise Men did not include lit snowmen – twin Frosty’s, one in mid-wave. That the manger wasn’t lit by blinking candy canes and Rudolph’s red nose, but by a star that called shepherds near and far.
And speaking of shepherds, he was sure Santa wasn’t one of them even if he was there too, sitting on a haybale, windblown as he was, looking like he’s swallowed a couple of vodka tonics. Red nose, indeed.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph” he thought, as the Baby was swaddled only in a blanket of snow.
He took out his mobile, took picture after picture, capturing the scene as it blinked and flashed, a faint hum from the compressors that kept one Frosty and Rudolph inflated, thus upright.
He took several of himself, the whole scene a backdrop.
Uploaded the photos at home, scanned them, chose the best, happiest shot. Wrote a holiday note that started with, “Happy Christmas, Baby Jesus, from all of us at the trailer park…”
But at the last minute, he chickened out.
Most of his friends were as sarcastic as he, hard-hardened by life, and would have gotten the joke.
But Grammy, she was another matter.
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Funny post. I was riding out in Millville the other day and saw a manger with Mary and Joseph, but no baby. This prompted me to wonder WWJD? What was Jesus doing?
And Mrs. Kravitz was probably lookin’ at your dude here through her curtains. “Abner! There’s a young man on our lawn taking pictures like crazy… He can’t seem to get enough of our display. I told you it’d be worth all the work, you lazy old goat!”