Wednesday, December 8, 2010
My Dad is a Minister. The religious rather than political kind.
Christmas is a big celebration for him.
He was never able to spend Christmas with us until he retired. He had to work!
So it was a momentous year for the seven year old when Grandad decided to fly here for Christmas.
She was four at the time.
Several weeks before the big arrival, we were all out in the car - when someone ran in front of us.
The husband had to brake hard to not hit him.
In his shock he swore. He said the name of a young man, important to all Christians, with an imminent birthday.
He said it loudly.
The four year old said it over and over all the way home.
The next morning she seemed to have forgotten and we didn't hear it from her again. Phew.
I am no fool though. I knew she would be saving it for a public airing.
Weeks went by and Grandad finally arrived. It was very exciting for the four year old. She had many plans for him.
His first morning he was in the living room with the four year old. I was in the half bathroom adjacent.
This is not a private privy - you can hear all the conversation from the living room.
I hear the two words I have been dreading - "Oh Jesus!"
Just in case anybody missed it - she says it again.
I am dying in the bathroom. My face is scarlet.
I am thinking that my Dad will be horribly offended.
Santa will not come. Christmas will be ruined.
I decide I will just have to go out there and explain and apologize.
I open the door in trepidation.
There is the four year old rocking the baby Jesus from our nativity in her arms...