Other children had fathers
who, as Christmas approached,
would herd them into the car, drive
them to the woods, saw down
a perfectly shaped evergreen,
tie it fast to the roof, and
lead them in a chorus of "Jingle
Bells" all the way home
where their mothers would
be waiting for them with
steaming cups of hot chocolate
with tiny marshmallows
floating merrily on the surface.
At least that's the impression
I got from the pages of Jack and Jill.
I, on the other hand, had
a father who taught
me the meaning of irony
as, observing the craziness
of harried holiday shoppers,
plodding cheerlessly from store to store,
he would chant, with cocked eyebrow,
his annual litany:
"Christmas comes but once a year
and when it comes, it brings good cheer."
My mother did not think
it was funny.
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