One thing that I always longed for while growing up was a white Christmas. When December rolled around, I started praying for snow. After a few years I should have known that it had never snowed before the 25th of December. Still, in my innocent, childlike way, I pleaded for snow. Each day, I’d awake, look outside and see if it had snowed. A few days before Christmas, I was really desperate for snow. I even crossed my fingers – a sign of “good luck,” but it never brought a before-Christmas snow.
Quite naturally, on Christmas morning, I’d hurry to the window and look out for snow, but to no avail. I just can’t explain how disappointed I was when the ground was still autumn brown and the earth had not a speck of snow on it. Unfortunately, I had to resign myself to the fact that I’d have another Christmas without a winter wonderland.
So, after that big let-down, I ran into the front room to raid the gifts underneath the poorly decorated Arkansas pine. I was not about to let Mother Nature and her divine wisdom spoil my favorite day of the year.
I have no idea why I wanted a white Christmas, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with the song “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” by Bing Crosby. At that time, I didn’t even know who he was nor had I heard any Christmas carols on the radio or otherwise.
I guess my heart just connected with the spirit of other Christmas lovers in America. Somewhere, someone was dreaming of a white Christmas, and fortunately for them, their dreams came true.
Growing up, did we ever have a White Christmas? The short answer is “no.” The long answer is that one year, my wish came one day late. We awoke to a white winter wonderland, and even though the big day was over, my heart was captured by the beauty of that snowy landscape. I celebrated my white Christmas, albeit it was one day late.
