Christmas Every Day

One Christmas day, Johnny and Jamie Jerras woke up and dashed to the living room fireplace. They stared wide-eyed at their stuffed stockings. What a joy to see the white-topped, red stockings nearly bursting with surprises!

The children were too small to get the stockings down, so Johnny got a stool. The boy and girl excitedly pulled present after present from the bright-red, fuzzy containers their mother had sewn for the occasion.

Through the years, Santa had learned that the Jerras Family liked small things, so the presents the children ogled were cans of kippered herring, bags of cashews, jars of raspberry jam, bottles of fruit juice, and the perennial favorite, Cracker Jacks.

After the initial excitement had waned and the children munched their goodies, the two glanced at the Christmas tree. It, plus the stockings, the presents, the excitement, and the promise that lay beneath the sparkling bows, sent waves of warm tingles through the kids. It was so thrilling that it finally bubbled over. Johnny and Jamie raced into their parents' bedroom.

"Papa," yelled Johnny. "Santa came. I got kippers and cashews, jam and juice. Oh, Papa, come and see what he brought you!"

"Mama," shrieked Jamie, "You said that after we looked at the stockings, we got to open the presents under the tree. Come on, Mama,

look at your stocking. We've been waiting all year for this!"

George and Judy rubbed their eyes, put on their slippers and bathrobes, and moseyed into the living room. The bright lights enlivened the darkness with Yuletide magic. The adults feigned surprise at every gift.

"Hershey's," said Papa. "Why, Santa sure knows what I like best."

"And Vernors," swooned Mama. "Oh, I must've been a good girl."

After the annual ritual, the four sat at the edge of the glamorous tree. The smell of wax wafted through the air and carols echoed against the walls. The family enjoyed every second of the morning, complete with Mother folding the large sheets of wrapping paper and Father basket-balling the bows and ribbons into the plastic clothes hamper.

As the children played with their new toys and games, Mother readied the many dishes for the big dinner. Aunt Ellen and Uncle Ted came, and rich odors of dark meat, stuffing, and pumpkin pie soon filled the house. George and Ted experimented with the egg nog recipe until they found the most tantalizing proportions.

At noon, Grandpa and Grandma came, more aunts and uncles, and a room full of cousins made the house as energetic as an ant hill.

After the dishes were done and guests gone, the Jerras Family finished the festive day with another ritual, taking the Christmas tree and decorations down. When the house was back to normal, Johnny and Jamie lay in their beds holding their new toys closely.

"Oh," said Johnny, "I wish every day was Christmas."

"Me too," said Jamie. "Maybe if we wish hard enough it'll happen." The girl closed her eyes and wished as she never had before. As she fell asleep, she felt a great, warm wave float through her heart.

The next morning Johnny and Jamie woke up early. They didn't know why they were so excited as they found themselves racing into the living room. The two stared at a new Christmas tree as its bright lights twinkled

through the dark sending joyous flashes against the fireplace.

"Stockings!" shrieked Jamie. "Santa did come again!"

The children slid the contents onto the floor. This time there were Baby Ruths, frosted pretzels, homemade root beer -- all the things they loved.

"Papa!" shouted Johnny at his droopy-eyed father. "Santa has come. It's Christmas again!"

George peeped at Judy as if to say, "Well, you're only young once."

"Come on, Mom," urged Jamie excitedly, "your stocking is full, too."

Judy smiled at George. She agreed by saying, "You have to get up to go to work anyway."

George Jerras eased into his slippers and bathrobe as he had the previous dawn and shuffled behind the fur-fuzz slippers of his wife. When he reached the living room, his blurry eyes widened. The decorations dazzled him. The tree was as full as it was the morning before, as it always was on Christmas day. The candles were new, the stockings were full, everything stood exactly as it had been the evening before, prior to their dismantling the decorations according to the Jerras tradition.

George pinched Judy. "Ouch! What did you do that for?" she said.

"To see if this is a dream."

"Well, check it out," she responded as she pinched him.

"Ow," he answered. "But how can it be real? Where did the tree come from? Who put up the stockings? Where'd all those presents come from? What's going on, anyway?"

"I don't know," answered Judy, "but if you don't want me to pinch you again, why don't you just sit down and enjoy it all. If you don't, Santa might start pinching both of us."

The family sat in a semicircle and did what they did the morning of every December twenty-fifth. They were as full of amazement as

merriment. An Almond Joy, bottle of grape juice, and other goodies were followed by their children's urging.

"Come on, Papa, the presents. We always do them after the stockings."

George Jerras couldn't understand what had happened. But the tree was real as were the stockings and their contents. However this had come about, someone had done it very elaborately. Father felt that the test of its genuiness, other than the pinch, would be if the many boxes were full of real presents.

They were. Full of gifts that pleased each member as much as any present ever did. Mother folded the wrapping paper, Father free-throwed bows, and the children played with their new toys oblivious of the unexplainable mystery.

The day continued as all Christmas days did with Mother fixing the feast helped by Aunt Ellen, Father concocting the egg nog with Ted, and the house busy with grandparents, nephews, nieces, and cousins.

To make sure this wasn't a set-up, George sneaked into his study room and called his office. The taped voice of his secretary confirmed the day: "This is Jerras, Incorporated. Everyone here wishes you a joyous Christmas and will get back to business December twenty-sixth." That was enough to convince George. He returned to the festivities, no longer pinched himself, and went along with the day as if it was the real Christmas.

"The only thing that bothers me," he said to himself, "is if I get two sets of bills."

That evening the family dismantled the tree, boxed the decorations, and went to bed.

"Wasn't that neat?" said Johnny Jerras to his sister. "Just like Christmas."

"Yeah," said little Jamie. "But what do you men, justlikeChristmas? ItwasChristmas."

"I know,'" said Johnny, "but how come? I thought there was only one Xmas a year." After a pause, he said, "I wonder if it was because of what we wished last night?" After another pause, the boy added, "Uncle Ted said that everything about Christmas is magic, including Santa, so if it can happen once a year, why not two days in a row?"

"Well," said the happy little Jamie, "if Christmasismagic, todayreallyis, so why don't we wish again and see if it happens again?"

"Yeah," said the big brother excitedly. "Then maybe I'll feel that warm glow like I did last night after we made the wish."

Jamie sat up in bed, still holding her new Barbie. "Did you feel it, too, Johnny?"

It was the boy's turn to be surprised as he looked at his sister. All he could say was, "Cool."

The third morning was the same as the first and second, the fourth, fifth, and three hundredth. George gave up calling the office, Judy no longer cared where the food came from, the entire Jerras clan rejoiced that they could feast every day, and George got only one bill, the one for the first Christmas.

In time, everyone that experienced the repeated celebrations knew he was living magic. They also knew that the wisest thing to do was take advantage of it, so the Jerras family enjoyed the most unusual year of their lives.

At the end of the thirtieth Christmas in a row, a new kind of magic, one initiated physically by Johnny and Jamie, for when the two finished spending their day's playing, they needed more room to put them. All month they'd piled up and had finally filled the basement. The presents

appeared by magic, but they never disappear.

The children took it upon themselves to solve the problem. Now, they'd become accustomed to being thrilled by every gift, but knowing that each day they'd get many more, they lost their feelings of attachment, that gnawing feeling dominated by the fear they'd get no more. This detachment allowed them to play joyfully with them for a few hours, then put them aside. Soon they found themselves playing with the piles of wrapping paper. That led to rewrapping the toys. But what to do with them all? That's when Johnny and Jamie decided to play Santa Claus themselves.

During the afternoons, after they'd enjoyed looking at their newest toys, the children delivered the presents throughout the city. In time, George had to create a system so his children could disperse them around town evenly. George X-ed the blocks the kids went on a city map. By the end of the year, every block had been blessed at least once.

Each segment of this fantastic tale could be blown up to a full-length story and each would be glorious in its own right. But the overall effect of the three-hundred sixty-five miracles came on the twenty-sixth of December, exactly one year after the first blessing. Know that the thrill of the magic had not worn off and no one had tired of the festivities nor expected the miracle to be repeated.

What happened on the three-hundred sixty-sixth day, then, neither surprised nor disappointed a single Jerras. On December 26 the day began like any normal day-after-Christmas. Namely, that there was no tree, no stockings, no early wake-up for George and Judy.

Judy didn't prepare a feast with Ellen, George didn't make egg nog with Ted, the house wasn't full of relatives. Instead, George went to work as usual, and Johnny and Jamie played all day with their most recent toys for

the first time in a year. No one felt cheated or unblessed or slighted. Each was happy he'd been part of the blessing.

As to its cause, no one speculated and no one cared. Whether some cosmic computer had hit a Repeat Button, it didn't matter. Whether the children's' wish had brought it on, that didn't matter, either. All that was important was that a family had experienced a most joyous, extended miracle and had pleased others by sharing their windfall.

At the end of the latest twenty-sixth, George, Judy, Johnny, and Jamie, all said the same thing: The whole world can be assured that the family enjoyed every second not just for themselves but for everyone else who'd ever wished that every day was Christmas. And that miracles really do happen, every day you want them.