Short Story

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

It’s six for A Six today,
all coming together to form one story:
One prompt for GirlieOnTheEdge’s Six Sentence Story,
four Fandango’s One Word Challenge prompts and
one photo prompt from Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge.

Yes Siree Bob, that makes six!
🎄 🦌 🎅🏼 🦌 🎄

© Judith Prins/Unsplash

It was a long time ago, probably 30 years now, but I remember that night like it was yesterday, as if someone had taken a permanent marker and etched the whole event on my brain for all eternity; at the time I was quite active in my church, so much so that I somehow managed to get myself elected president of the parish council, a situation I found myself in because it’s a tremendous challenge for me to say “no” and, as a result, I end up getting involved in projects I’d rather not be doing. 

My committee and I were decorating the rectory meeting room and setting the tables for the parish council’s Christmas dinner when I realized the wine I bought for the function had gone missing; now, I am a very organized person, certainly no scatterbrain, and when I found there was no room whatsoever in the refrigerator or freezer for the bottles of wine, I placed them in a covered box in the garage attached to the rectory knowing they would stay safe and cold, so how they could have disappeared was a total mystery. 

Faced with the inability of turning water into wine and with no time to go to the store, I decided to check the rectory storage room hoping to find wine left over from a previous dinner and I was rewarded with an entire case of red wine sitting on a shelf in the corner just waiting for me; well, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I saw this new-found wine as divine intervention and placed two bottles on each table, quite pleased with myself for having saved the night at the last minute. 

When the priests arrived for the party, they looked around the room in approval, nodding and smiling, but that was short lived when I suddenly saw one priest, Fr. Bob, heading my way and he didn’t look happy which made me wonder what was causing his consternation; now, in my defense, I am not a member of the clergy and have no way of knowing these things but the wine I found in the storage room was not just any ordinary, run-of-the-mill wine – no siree – it was blessed communion wine, meant solely for the purpose of Holy Communion and definitely not for a party, albeit a church Christmas party!  

When Fr. Bob asked me (rather belligerently, I might add) how I could have made such a careless mistake, my mind went  blank and everything I tried to say ended up sounding like a lame excuse; what was supposed to be a great accomplishment for me as parish council president turned into the most mortifying experience of my life and just when I thought the evening could not get any worse, it did.  

The man I hired (from a so-called “reputable” agency) to play Santa Claus went AWOL, leaving his sleigh and a slightly inebriated-looking reindeer abandoned in the snow-covered backyard of the rectory; after a search of the grounds, Santa was found in the monsignor’s car in the garage, drunk as a skunk, passed out in the back seat and clutching my missing bottles of wine …. and if you give me a Bible, I will place my right hand on it and swear that everything you just read is entirely true (except the part about the tipsy reindeer; I added that because I simply couldn’t ignore the adorable graphic accompanying this story).

NAR © 2023

This is “The Ballad of Uncle Drank – Santa’s Hammered”

Uncategorized

YES, VIRGINIA

Preface: All this month I gave a lot of thought to writing the “Great American Christmas Story”. I began more drafts than I can count and deleted them all; I just wasn’t feeling it. When my grandchildren began asking if Santa was real, I remembered the true story of an 8-year-old girl named Virginia O’Hanlon who wrote a letter to her local newspaper asking that very question. The newspaper’s editor, Francis Pharcellus Church, felt compelled to respond to Virginia’s letter in the form of a feature article. His ‘letter’ to Virginia contains an amazing message, a poignant gift to share with young and old alike. It’s an inspiring response and truly makes one stop, think and assess what’s important in life.

I realized that’s exactly what I wanted to convey in my story but Mr. Church beat me to it and in a much more eloquent way.

I hope during this holiday season you’ve had a chance to reflect on some cherished Christmas memories. There are so many magical moments during Christmas that really do make it the most wonderful time of the year. Isn’t it a pity the special and unique love we feel for one another during Christmas starts to evaporate shortly after the holidays?

Life is often not fair nor is it easy. There’s a lot of discord in the world, too much hatred, unhappiness and suffering. Sometimes just putting one foot in front of the other can be a monumental task, especially after the last two years. We need something to cling to, to believe in and to help us remember what Christmas was like when we were 8-years-old.

I hope you find Mr. Church’s response to Virginia’s question enlightening, captivating and heartwarming. This is how it appeared in The New York Sun on September 21, 1897; I think you’ll agree it’s as appropriate and meaningful today as it was 124 years ago.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

NAR © 2021