DECEMBER 2020 SEASON’S READINGS Bardsy Holiday Anthology, 2020 In the spirit of the holidays, we’ve gathered sto- ries new and old from the Bardsy library as a gift to our members. Unwrap the tales within and “yule” delight in a heartwarming fuzzy flamingo ornament, a mysterious wreath, a talking writ- er-reindeer, and so much more. We were struck, when compiling this collection, by the many unique voices it represented. We hope next year’s anthology will be even more diverse. No matter what and how you celebrate, 2020 has been a challenging year for all. Now, more than ever, we appreciate the stories that bring us together and make the world a little bit smaller. A love of family and the desire for health, hap- piness and compassion are constants shared across borders, cultures and faiths. We know these stories will give you a few moments’ re- spite. We also hope you’ll share them with friends and family, and perhaps be inspired to write a few of your own! A joyous, safe and happy holiday season to all, or as the Bard himself would say, “Heaven give you many, many merry days.” —CELESTE, ADAM & THE ENTIRE BARDSY TEAM BARDSY.COM DEDICATED TO COPYRIGHT, 2020 BARDSY INC. LOS ANGELES, CA Table of Contents The Christmas Door 7 Jay to the World 16 Oh Hanukkah, Oh Hanukkah 28 The Christmas Tree 29 The Disgruntled Reindeer 34 The Christmas Gift 42 Conspiracy: Naughty List 54 The Memory Ornament 66 Miracles 72 THE TARNISHED NAMEPLATE ON THE WEATHERED DOOR READ: THE MARTINS. No one could recall ever seeing anyone coming or going from the house on Beacon Street. The mystery about the Martin house took place a few weeks before Christmas. A large green wreath with red berries and velvet ribbons would mysteriously appear on the weathered door. A candle, placed in the window, would cast a faint shaft of light onto the sidewalk. Behind the candle hung heavy drapes concealing what might be inside the house. The door was the highlight of the Christmas season in our neighborhood. We were poor, and lucky to have a Christmas tree or gifts, much less holiday dec- orations for the house. Most families struggled to put food on the table, shoes on small feet, and pay the gas bill. The Christmas Door Our neighborhood was on the decline. Many of the homes had sagging roofs, windows covered with plywood, front porches leaning, rotting, never again to welcome a neighbor for a cold lemonade and idle chat. There were empty lots BY ALBERT M. growing a good crop of weeds. Here and there, old refrigerators, bags of trash, and skeletons of old cars found a resting place. Bardsy Holiday Anthology, 2020 I didn’t think much about being poor except at Christmas, when Mom ex- Coming Together Through Stories plained why we wouldn’t have a new Christmas tree or gifts. My dad got hurt at the steel mill and wasn’t able to work. The artificial tree and the few unbro-ken ornaments in the attic would have to do. Mom said things would get better and one day we’d have a real tree with bright lights and gifts stacked high. I would sit on our porch, looking out over the vacant lots and tired old houses, and think what it would be like to have a Christmas tree with colorful lights and lots of presents. I’d think about other things like being able to go to the theater down on Maple Avenue and sit in the soft seats the rich kids talked about at school. Sometimes I’d think about having a new pair of shoes where the sole wasn’t loose and flapping every time I took a step. As Christmas drew near, we waited for the wreath and candle to make their appearance. It took everything I had to wait until we finished dinner and dad excused me from the table. 7 BARDSY HOLIDAY ANTHOLOGY THE CHRISTMAS DOOR 8 Bundled against December’s frigid wind and blowing snow, I hurried to As we walked home from the door one night, Craig suggested that if any of Beacon Street and the Christmas Door, Mom shouting after me, “Be careful, us moved away and later returned, we should leave a sign we had visited the Mick.” Christmas Door. Everyone agreed to carve their initials on the old lamp post. We would gather across the street from the door, brushing the snow from the It wasn’t long before Marty and his family moved away because of the bank. curb, pushing and shoving to get the best seat. There was Marty Sumner, my “They are for closing,” he said one night. He said he wanted to sit and look at best friend, Lois, Marty’s sister, Craig Collins, Sammy Duncan, and me, Mickey the Christmas Door one more time. “I know I ain’t ever going to see it again.” Wright. We were all in the seventh grade at Mission Elementary, except for Lois. She attended Mary of Faith School. Marty said she had trouble learning and Soon after, Craig’s mom and dad divorced and Craig and his mom moved to needed special teachers. The bus would pick her up and drop her off right in Chicago; then Sammy died in a drive-by shooting the following summer, over front of her house. We’d be walking to school in the cold and snow and the bus on Jefferson Avenue. They never figured out who the shooters were. The news- would come down the street splashing slush everywhere. Lois would wave to paper said Sammy was an innocent bystander. He had been riding his bike us from inside the warm bus. when the gunfire erupted from a passing car. The target had been two mem- bers of a rival gang sitting on the porch. Huddled together for warmth on the curb on Beacon Street, our breathing sending white puffs into the frigid night, our mitten covered hands clapping to With my closest friends gone, my school year seemed to drag by. I still had warm our numbing fingers, we’d bet imaginary sums of money on what was friends, but it wasn’t the same. On graduation day at Mission Elementary, I behind the door. thought about my old friends. I missed them and wished we could still gather on the curb on Beacon Street. I knew I’d never see my friends again, and being “I bet a zillion dollars there’s a giant tree with a trillion gifts underneath,” Marty a high school freshman, I would be too old to sit on the curb. said. The wreath and candle continued to appear every Christmas. A new group of “Bet there is a big fireplace with stockings filled with gifts and candy like the kids huddled on the curb to dream about what might be behind the weath- pictures in the Sunday paper,” Sammy added. ered door. I could see them sitting on the curb, hear the excitement in their voices, and see the wonder in their eyes. “How much you betting?” I asked as if somehow we could prove what was be- hind the door and determine a winner. It was in my second year of high school that my dad was in a terrible automo- bile accident. Dad died on the way to the hospital. A few weeks later, the aid “A bunch of millions,” Sammy replied. “More than all the money in the world.” He people came to our house. Mom listened as the man and woman explained was swinging his arms across his body, trying to keep warm. how to get help from the government. My mom cried for two days before get- ting dressed and walking down to the aid office to sign up. Mom never got over Lois kept saying, “Dolls, dolls in there.” having to tell a stranger we needed help. She seemed to change after that. A few weeks later she got really sick. “I bet a million dollars there is a new bicycle with white mud flaps, a horn, and a spotlight. Oh, and a new baseball glove,” I added. The time would come when Mom’s sister, Ruth, drove from Missouri to help around the house and make the clock forced us to drag ourselves away from the Christmas Door. The trip sure Mom took her medicine. A few months later, Aunt Ruth said Mom would home was always the longest and loneliest trip ever. It seemed like forever before I got home and could feel my toes and fingers again. 9 BARDSY HOLIDAY ANTHOLOGY THE CHRISTMAS DOOR 10 have to go away for a while because of her illness. I didn’t know what was had been leaving a lot behind lately. wrong with her, though I heard Aunt Ruth say something to Uncle Luke about her just giving up. Uncle Luke drove his pickup truck down to help Aunt Ruth I had graduated from high school and was working for Uncle Luke at the hard- take Mom to the hospital. When they returned, they said I would have to go live ware store he owned. Uncle Luke said I would be taking over the store once with them in Missouri until she got on her feet. They had me gather every-thing he retired. He seemed pleased the store would be staying in the family. There I wanted to keep and pack it in the back of Uncle Luke’s truck. Aunt Ruth went were business trips to conventions to see what wares were available, plane through the house looking for things Mom might want to keep.