He woke up suddenly and completely! It was 4 o'clock, the hour at which his father always had called him, as a youth, go get up and help with the milking. It was strange how the habits of his youth still clung to him after 50 years. His father had been dead for 30 years, and yet he awakened at 4 o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go back to sleep, but this morning, it was Christmas. He did not even try to sleep.
"Why did he feel so awake tonight?" he wondered. He slipped back in time ever so easily nowadays. He was 15 years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father, although he had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother.
"Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast, and he needs his sleep. If you could just see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up. I wish I could manage alone."
"Well, you can't, Adam." His mother's voice was brisk. "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn."
"Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him."
When he heard these words, something inside him made him realize that his father loved him. He never had thought of it before, taking it for granted...the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children. They had no time for such things. There always was so much to do on the farm.
Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, even tho' stumbling blindly with sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes shut tight, but he got up.
And then, on the night before Christmas that year, when he was 15, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and the mince pies his mother made. His sister sewed presents, and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too.
That Christmas he was 15, he wished he had a better present for his father. As usual, he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking about it the night before Christmas. He looked out his attic window, where the stars were bright.
"Dad," he once had asked when he was a little boy, "what is a stable?"
"It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours."
Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn, the shepherds had come... .
The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift, too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than 4 o'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean them up, and then when his father went to start the milking, he'd see it was all done...and he'd know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he mustn't sleep too soundly.
He must have awakened 20 times that night, scratching a match each time to look at his old watch--midnight, half past one, then two o'clock. At a quarter to three, he got up and put on his clothes, then crept downstairs, being careful of the creaky ol' boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them, too.
He never had milked alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty this day...they'd be standing in the milk-house filled.
"What the... !" he could hear his father exclaiming.
He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant.
The task went more easily than he ever had known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else...a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure it latched. Back in his room, he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, before he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing, then the door opened.
"Rob!" His father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."
"Aw right," he said sleepily.
The door closed, and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes, his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body. The minutes were endless...10, 15, he didn't know how many...then he heard his father's footsteps again. The door opened, and he lay still.
"Rob!"
"Yes, Dad."
His father was laughing a queer sobbing sort of laugh.
"Thought you'd fool me, did you?" His father was standing beside his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover.
"It's for Christmas, Dad!"
He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark, and they couldn't see each other's faces.
"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing... ."
"Oh, Dad, I want you to know--I do want to be good." The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to do. His heart was bursting with love. He got up and pulled on his clothes again, and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh, what a Christmas, and how his heart nearly had burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had gotten up all by himself.
"The best Christmas gift I've ever had, and I'll remember it, son, every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live." They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone...that blessed Christmas dawn when, with only the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love.
This Christmas he wanted to write a card to his wife and tell how much he loved her. It had been a long time since he really had told her, although he loved her in a very special way, much more than he ever had when they were young. He had been fortunate that she loved him. Ah, that was the true joy of life...the ability to love. Love was still alive in him...it still was.
It suddenly occurred to him that it was alive because long ago it had been born in him when he knew his father loved him. That was it: Love alone could awaken love. And he could give the gift again and again. This morning, this blessed Christmas morning, he would give it to his beloved wife. He would write it down in a letter for her to read and keep forever. He went to his desk and began his love letter to his wife with "My dearest love."
Such a happy, happy Christmas!
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