Once Upon a Christmas Read online

  “Willy,” as her students called her, reached her classroom only minutes before Leander Love, who was always early and never happy to be there. “Yo, Willy! Whatcha gonna do on your vacation?” It was the last school day before winter break, the politically correct designation of Christmas vacation.

  “Yo, yourself, Leander. I’m gonna be home makin’ up all kinds of tests and worksheets for you all to fill in when vacation is over.” Willy’s students had been filling in blanks on reading-development exercises and checking off answers on reading tests ever since they failed the state-mandated test in third grade; yet they still read far below the benchmarks set by the governor, the state legislature, and the South Florida Board of Education. Willy had wonderful job security. As long as there were dysfunctional families and neighborhoods, there would be kids with reading problems, regardless of legislative mandates. And nobody else wanted her job.

  Fourteen of the thirty students assigned to Basic Communications—a euphemism for high school remedial reading classes—shuffled, shoved, and slouched into the classroom after Leander. Most hailed their teacher with some kind of seasonal salutation, but none disrespectfully. For many reasons, Willy was their favorite teacher, and to “dis” her would be a lack of class, totally not cool.

  “Whatcha gonna read us today?” This question came from LaTania Robinson, one of only three girls in the class. Most girls tested out of remedial reading by ninth grade or got pregnant and quit school.

  The question revealed their teacher’s atypical approach to reading instruction, which was to read her students stories she thought would reach and teach them in some way. Then she offered them copies of the stories she’d read with the assignment that they read and re-read them. “The more times you read a story, the better,” she urged. “Every time you read a story, it gets easier to read.”

  She answered LaTania’s question by announcing she had a Christmas story for them to hear. “Now, you all just sit back and listen.” She knew the Curriculum Guide did not sanction the use of Christmas literature, but Willy was confident none of her kids would report her. Their familiarity with the principal’s office had bred contempt, and they went there only when summoned.

  Her students came to order, some more asleep than awake, and she began to read from a magazine whose pages she had read many times before on the day before Christmas vacation. The story is called Daddy Came Home for Christmas.

  Emmaline Wilson sat in Daddy’s lap with her head resting against his chest, as it moved in rhythm to the words of the story he was reading.

  “There were two hundred rooms in the castle. And on every wall in every room was a large mirror for Princess Emmaline to see how much prettier she was that day than the day before.”

  “Daddy, say it right!”

  “But that’s what it says, sweetheart.”

  “When Mama reads it, she says, Princess Primrose.”

  “Well, baby, I know a Princess Emmaline who is getting prettier every day—prettier than this picture of Princess Primrose.”

  And so it was that each time Daddy read her a story, he found some way to put her in it; and though she protested, she loved his alterations and him for making them. And she loved his oily smell from working at Eddie’s Car Care and the feel of his voice beneath his shirt. It was deep and rumbly, like the bottom of a river where the cool water sweeps across sand, splashes over stones, and slips past fishes. That’s how Daddy read.

  Emmaline felt like a character in a story. There was a mama and a daddy, and she was their little girl. Daddy went to work every morning at Eddie’s Car Care, and Mama went to work at the Uptown Diner. Emmaline went downstairs to Mrs. Feldman’s apartment, where she played with Cora and Manny Feldman, ate lunch, and took a nap. Then Mama came home and Daddy came home, and they were a family again. Everyone was living happily ever after … until Daddy lost his job at Eddie’s and couldn’t find another one. Then everything changed.

  When Daddy read her a story, he didn’t have that oily smell Emmy liked. Instead, his breath smelled funny, and he missed words and said some of them wrong when he didn’t mean to. Some nights Daddy didn’t come home at all, so Mama read to her, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same anymore.

  One night Emmy woke up and heard Mama and Daddy quarreling real loud. She could smell cigarette smoke coming under the door of her room, and she knew Daddy was being bad because Mama got sick from cigarette smoke and had asked Daddy to please never smoke in the house. Then she heard Daddy using some naughty words that Mama had asked him never to use. Finally, the door slammed, and Emmy knew Daddy was gone.The next morning, Mama said Daddy wouldn’t be coming home anymore. He was going to live somewhere else, in a different city, and Emmy should just try to forget all about him.

  Emmaline’s gradual realization that Daddy was not coming home anymore was like nightfall. Little by little, the light faded until there was nothing but darkness filled with sadness and longing for Daddy. But as the sun sets, it also rises; and the prospect of going to school brought sunshine back to Emmy’s life. She moved Daddy to the back of her memories and thought of him only when someone read her a story, and then she was attacked by feelings of anger for his having left Mama and her all alone.

  Emmaline Wilson began school filled with enthusiasm and anticipation. Mama had said, “It won’t be long, and I won’t have to read to you. You’ll be doin’ all your own readin’. You got to pay me back by readin’ some stories to me.” And Emmy thought how wonderful it would be to read Mama a story … and even more wonderful to read one to Daddy. She would read “Princess Primrose,” and Daddy would ask her to read it again; and she would, just as he had always read it again to her until she knew “Princess Primrose” by heart.

  But Emmaline did not learn to read easily. And the harder she tried, the more mistakes she made. So she was given more tests and more worksheets with blanks for her to fill in and paragraphs to read instead of stories. She was even enrolled in a special phonics program where she tried to learn that, when the letter “c” is followed by “e” or “i,” it makes the sound of “s.” And that when two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking and says its own name, except in words like “bread” and “chief.” And hardest of all, when the consonant “r” precedes a vowel, the vowel makes a sound that is neither long nor short.

  All of the hard work didn’t help Emmy to read sentences when she couldn’t decide if “them” was “then” or “was” was “saw.” And trying to sound out so many words made her lose track of what the sentence was about. Reading whole stories seemed unattainable. By Christmas of third grade, Emmaline Wilson was certain she would never learn to read.

  And that’s when Mama gave her some disturbing news. “Your daddy is back, Emmaline. He sat himself down at one of my tables at the Uptown and says, bold as brass, he wants to see you, honey.”

  Emmy was stunned. She sensed her mother wanted her to say something, but she didn’t know what to say. So she asked, not really wanting to know, “Where’s he been at, Mama?”

  “He says he’s been away, and now he’s back workin’ at Eddie’s again. Your daddy always was the best there is at fixin’ cars.” She paused. “He really wants to see you, Emmy.”

  “I don’t want to see him, Mama. I hate him!”

  “No, you don’t, sweetheart. He’s your daddy, and he’s got a right to see his only child.”

  “I’ll run away, Mama.”

  “No, you won’t, Emmaline Wilson, ’cause I got a nice Christmas planned for you and me.”

  “You got a present for me?”

  “Yes, I do. And a canned ham from Mr. Rustin at the Uptown.”

  “What is my present, Mama?”

  “You gotta wait for Santa Claus, but you’re gonna look real pretty wearin’ it for when your daddy comes.” Mama played the Christmas present game, but not with the same suspense most parents applied.

  Emmy pouted. “Now you went and told me what my present is.” She thought fo
r a moment. “When’s Daddy comin’?”

  “Six o’clock Christmas Eve.”

  The Uptown closed after the lunch hour the day before Christmas, and Mama hurried home to get Emmy from Mrs. Feldman’s and to get the ham in the oven. Horace loved the smell of ham bakin’ in the oven. Let him see what he’s been missin’ these years he’s been gone.

  Mrs. Feldman was feeding the new baby when Mama arrived, and Emmy was building a Lincoln Log fort with Cora and Manny. The Lincoln Log set was a Hanukkah present for Manny. Cora had received a more practical gift, new underwear and socks.

  Mama opened the conversation. “We gotta scoot, Edna. Company comin’ at six.”

  “Sit down, Pearl. What’s the big rush? I have some fresh chocolate chips and a need to talk to someone older than ten.”

  “Horace comin’ by, Edna. He’s back in town and wantin’ to see Emmy.”

  “Really, Pearl? When you said ‘company,’ I was thinkin’ ’bout your old Sandy Claws.” (Mrs. Feldman was always critical of the Christmas traditions of Christians.) Her face stiffened, and she cautioned, “You be careful, Pearl. Some company can bring along a bagful of trouble.”

  “Not this company, Edna. I told this Santy Claus he got one hour to say howdy-doo. Then he gotta scoot right back up the chimney he come down in. But ain’t he gonna be surprised at how pretty and grown-up our Emmy is?”

  “Just remember, Pearl. One hour. I guess even Horace can’t cause too much trouble in one hour … if he’s not drinking.”

  “He knows better than that, comin’ to my house. We gotta go now. Come along, Emmy. Merry Christmas, Edna.” She thought a moment, “or Happy … what is it?”

  “Hanukkah, Pearl. Happy Hanukkah.”

  At ten minutes to six, Emmaline Wilson was sitting in the big chair she and her daddy sat in when he read to her. She was watching “Wheel of Fortune.” The letters coming up on the big board meant little to her, but she was fascinated by how the contestants made words out of them. For some strange reason she derived pleasure from watching others do what she could not.

  When the three measured taps on the door to the hallway finally came, she felt her whole body getting tight. The dress she thought so beautiful minutes earlier now seemed homely and ill-fitting. She wished the door would be stuck shut and the man on the other side unable to get in.

  Mama heard the taps too and came running from the kitchen, smoothing her hair as she ran. When she got to the door, she sniffed to be sure the aroma of the ham in the oven had drifted there. Then she slowly placed the palms of both hands flat on the door, as if she were trying to feel the man on the other side before seeing him. Finally, she opened the door with forced slowness.

  There was a moment of awkward silence, broken when Mama said sharply, without looking away from the man in the doorway, “Emmaline, turn the TV off. Your daddy is here to see you.”

  “I come to see you too, Pearl. Now don’t let’s get nothin’ started on Christmas Eve.”

  “You’re right, Horace. I’m glad to see you lookin’ so good. Me and Emmy both glad to see you.”

  Emmaline watched and heard her parents as if they were actors on television. They were framed by the open doorway:

  Daddy:

  You’re lookin’ good too, Pearl. I been imaginin’ how it would feel. You know, comin’ back to the apartment and all.

  Mama:

  You put on some weight, Horace. Looks good on you.

  Daddy:

  (smiling for the first time) Eatin’ lotta Snickers bars. Gave up the smokes.

  Mama:

  (feigning a faint) Good Lord! You gotta stop shockin’ me like that.

  Daddy:

  Tryin’ to save up a few bucks. Eddie says he might need a partner to open up another shop. Business been good.

  Mama:

  You and Eddie getting’ along now?

  Daddy:

  Yeah. We work good together. And we go to the meetin’s together, too.

  Mama:

  What meetin’s those?

  Daddy:

  Oh, just somethin’ called AA. It ain’t important, Pearl.

  Mama:

  I know what AA is, Horace. And it is important. (short pause) Now, you get on in here and say Merry Christmas to your beautiful daughter. She just insisted on wearin’ her new Christmas dress for the daddy who run away from her and her mama.

  Daddy:

  Now, Pearl, don’t get started. This is Christmas Eve, and a lotta things have changed since then.

  He walked to Emmaline and said, “My Lord. Ain’t you the pretty one, though. You remember how I used to read to you in that chair?”

  Daddy’s voice was still deep and rumbly. The broad smile that began slowly opened his lips and revealed his big white teeth. It melted all of the tightness out of Emmy’s back and legs. She nodded her head in answer to his question.

  “Well, sweetheart, this here is a Christmas present to you from your daddy. Merry Christmas, Princess Emmaline.” He held a package that had been expertly wrapped by some seasonal employee in Customer Service.

  Emmaline accepted the gift shyly and, as she had been carefully taught, said, “Thank you” and placed the package in her lap.

  “Well, ain’t you goin’ to open it?” It was Mama speaking, and the implication was clear.

  Slowly and carefully Emmy removed the bow, ribbon, and colored paper to find a beautifully bound copy of Children’s Christmas Stories. Emmy looked at the thick book and felt neither delight nor happiness. Rather, she felt the uncomfortable tightness returning to her body. She could never read this book with its big words and long sentences and who knew what else. Despite her disappointment she forced another “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Princess.” Daddy was speaking directly to her. “Your mama probably told you I ain’t got much time here tonight. What say I read you one of the stories in that book before I go?” He stopped talking and watched for her approval. Oh, she wanted that so much. Daddy always knew how to ask a question knowing how she would answer. She nodded. “Okay, then. How about you sittin’ on my lap like old times?” She nodded again.

  With her head resting against his chest, Daddy read “The Animals’ Christmas Party.”

  His voice was still deep and rumbly like the bottom of a river. And he smelled oily from his work at Eddie’s Car Care. The time between Daddy’s leaving and his return had vanished. Emmy felt his chest as it moved in rhythm to his voice as it swept across sand, splashed over stones, and slipped past fishes.

  When he finished the story, he closed the book. “Do you like your Christmas present from your daddy?” he asked. And suddenly Emmy realized she had no present for him. She had a new soup ladle for Mama that Mrs. Feldman had helped her pick out and wrap. It was hidden in her private place under her bed, waiting to be a Christmas morning surprise. But she had nothing for Daddy.

  “I wish I had a present for you,” she said with such sincerity, it prompted a response. “Tell you what, Emmy. I bet you can read better’n me now. You readin’ me a story from this here book would be ’bout the best Christmas present you could give your daddy.” Emmaline froze. She couldn’t let him hear her say “was” for “saw” and “them” for “there.” She couldn’t let him hear her try to sound out a word and make a sound that wasn’t a word at all. Hear her stop in the middle of a sentence because she was so mixed up, nothing was making sense. Her head buzzed with mortification. She would be humiliated, shamed.

  “How about it, Princess? Pick any story you want.” He held the book for her to take it. She was terrified. “Any story you want,” Daddy repeated.

  “Princess Primrose!” She nearly shouted the title. “I want to read Princess Primrose.” Her mind was clearing. She knew Princess Primrose by heart. She would fake it. Daddy had said any story she wanted. “I will read you Princess Primrose,” she repeated.

  She jumped from Daddy’s lap and ran to her bedroom, where the book she loved rested under her bed waiting for
a reader to open its pages. Emmy pulled it out and clutched it to her chest all the way back to Daddy’s chair. Climbing back into his lap, she opened the cover and found the first page she remembered so well. Then she began to “read.”

  “There were two hundred rooms in the castle. And on every wall in every room was a large mirror …” Emmaline’s voice was light and floaty, like a cloud moving across blue sky on a summer day. For emphasis and to prove she was really reading, she pointed to each word as she said it. “… for Princess Primrose to see how much prettier she was …”

  And then something wonderful began to happen. As if a magician had waved his wand, what had been hidden took shape and form. Emmaline Wilson was really reading! “ … that day than the day before. But poor Princess Primrose was not growing prettier each day. Instead …”

  Emmy began to see a system at work in the shapes of the letters and words, the sounds the letters stood fo,r and the way the sense of the sentence told what a word was. She was really, truly reading, and Daddy was listening, and she could feel his chest moving as if he were reading, not she; and, oh my!, Emmaline felt a sense of power and accomplishment and happiness she had never felt before.

  When she finished the last page and closed the cover on Princess Primrose, Daddy said, “Wasn’t that just great though! I don’t suppose any daddy’s goin’ to get a Christmas present as fine as that. Thank you, honey.” Then he looked at his watch and declared he had better get along so he and Eddie wouldn’t be late for their meeting. Emmy felt lonesome for him already, and he hadn’t even left.

  Mama, who had been spending time in both the living room and the kitchen while Daddy and Emmy were reading to each other, asked, “Where you and Eddie goin’ after your meetin’?”