“There is an angel close to you this day.
Merry Christmas, and I wish you well.”
— Paul Crume As I sit crafting one more Christmas column, I do it while recalling the blessing of memories and personal traditions. Which means one more time, I’ll read my favorite Christmas columns from the work of longtime Dallas Morning News editor Paul Crume.
As always, I will peruse “Christmas Fires” despite un-Christmas-like 80-degree weather.
Another, “To Touch an Angel,” was first published on Christmas Day 1967 and is still printed every Christmas in the Morning News as “Angels Among Us.”
I believe angels are among us all the time.
At Christmas, we’re reminded of their existence by seasonal cherubs atop many Christmas trees. This year, the angel gets a vacation while my treetop sports a gnome. But I know angels are still around.
Christmas feels like a magical time as well, steeped in the comfort of family and loved ones gathering, sharing a meal, laughing and being thankful to our Creator.
I also think about the Christmas we lived on Lake Murvaul when Santa brought us all bicycles. My kids and I enjoyed Christmas morning peddling cheer along county roads around the lake.
Then there’s the time we spent a snowy family Christmas in the mountains of Taos, New Mexico. Our days were filled with skiing and we enjoyed a tiny tree with gifts, celebrating in our room at the lodge. Santa still found us.
And how many times have I smiled, recalling the Christmas when my incredibly artistic daughter, Robin, gathered up empty boxes and crumpled paper after gifts were opened, taking it all to her room. It was a while before I discovered she had left new toys under the Christmas tree while replicating Elvis Presley’s Graceland home from the scavenged materials.
It was another 1980s Christmas Eve in Center while my children dreamed of the Jolly Old Elf that I tackled boxes bearing “Some Assembly Required” and thought, “This won’t take long.”
Pushing midnight, the little play kitchen was done, inserting the last tab A into slot 4 and securing with one No. 6 bolt and one No.
9 nut. Then came the tricycle, the doll stroller and stocking stuffers.
Assembly was finished just in time to experience the magic of a Christmas morning sunrise.
Watching my children on that occasion always reminded me of a Christmas dawn in Mount Pleasant one 1960s Yule season when I heard a soft voice at my bedroom door.
“You think he’s come?” said one of my sisters.
Since I was the elder sibling and knew Santa’s presents involved more than mere magic, it fell on me to help preserve the mystery for my younger sisters.
“I don’t know,” I told my youngest sister, Sylvia. “Let’s go see.”
With middle sister Leslie also up and curious, we peeked into the living room. A collection of unwrapped gifts glittered in the early morning light under a shiny aluminum tree.
“I think so,” I said.
I also can’t forget the magic in my grandmother’s bedtime stories on Christmas Eve with her frequent reminders that, “You better go to sleep before ol’ Santy comes.”
If her stories didn’t send me to dreamland fast enough, she typically turned off the bedside lamp, pretending to hear reindeer on the roof. And I pretended to be asleep, still wishing it was Christmas morning.
My wish for each of you is the same as every year: That you are blessed with the wonderful magic of Christmas, both making memories and reminiscing about them in the company of angels.
Contact Aldridge at leonaldridge@gmail. com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge.com.
