A Light Intervention

We had an intervention of sorts here at the house at Thanksgiving. All the kids were home and it was only after serious reflection that they felt the time was right for this drastic step. Of course, it was all meant to be helpful and was only brought on by love and concern.  I didn't think anything was amiss, but apparently, the subject is always the last to be aware.  It was unanimous among the children and with my wife quietly showing support that they sat me down in the living room and surrounded me.  "Dad", the oldest began, "We don't want you to...., this is hard for all of us to say." His voice kind of petered out and then the next oldest picked up where he left off. " Dad, we know you care and you have always tried to bring light into our lives, but we just can't...." She too had trouble finishing her thought. The youngest then took a deep breath and said, "Dad.  You are not to put up the Christmas lights anymore", she blurted out before she could stop herself. "We are tired of taking bets on how many times you bounce off the ground when you fall from the ladder, tired of the Instagramed pictures of your bruised and battered body parts held up like a prized fish that you caught.  We can't let Mom take the humiliation of having our neighbours and people walking by see you hanging by your fingertips off the eavestrough or yet another December visit to the Emergency Ward. We just can't. It isn't fair on Mom, us or you".

Of course, I didn't see it in the same light. I have always viewed the hanging of Christmas lights as a delicate balance between risk and reward; a confrontation between myself and the pesky laws of physics. To me, it was a battle of man versus light, a game of one on one, mano a lighto, it was me against it.  But what I didn't see was the effect that this had on my loved ones. I guess having to deal with me shuffling along wincing with pain every time I took a step or trying to open presents with only a few working fingers, might put a hindrance on holiday celebrations. Begrudgingly, I accepted their intervention and when the time came I ceded control of my new ladder and the tangled strings of lights to my children.  If an outsider was watching through the window, they would have thought it was one of those Kumbaya moments. Everyone was holding hands, seated in a semi-circle around me with satisfied smiles on their faces, reveling in the belief that they have saved their Dad his annual bout of pain and suffering.  

In due time on a planned visit, the kids once again filled the house. This time they were aided by weeks of careful planning with a blueprint to delegate responsibilities and coordination of duties.  They consulted with all known sources of holiday ideas, gathering the best from magazines and online sites which melded with their own creative ideas. Wrapping all of this data together, they had a meticulous working theme for the house, for the tree and for the interior decorations. It wouldn't have be surprised me if they had matching outfits for all of us on Christmas morning.  

With all of this all planned out, they headed downstairs to find the boxes of the Christmas decorations. Coming back up with more boxes than I seem to remember taking down, they opened them all looking for the exterior lights.  Their faces were painted with enthusiasm as they worked together closely, singing along with Nat King Cole as he vocalized about roasting chestnuts by the open fire. The living room was soon covered by strings of red, blue and green lights as they checked all the connections and bulbs to ensure there were no faulty ones. They then bundled up and dragged the lights outside and started to work.

For once, I sat in the warmth of the house, a mug of hot chocolate in my hand and stood looking out the front window, occasionally knocking on the window to get their attention and then pointing to something that wasn't quite right.  To be honest, I knocked more than occasionally; it would seem my definition of occasional is a little more elastic than most.  However, from the look on their faces you would have thought I was knocking as much as a woodpecker on an elm tree.  I could see befuddlement crease their brows as they tried to figure out just how those light hangers worked and frustrations as they snapped in two from the cold; referring of course to the hangers and not the children.

As the sun began to set I could see what started as a display of sibling unity was devolving into a sibling rivalry so standard in most family dynamics when working together. But putting this growing frustration aside, they finished their task and tumbled into the house; noses and fingers cold, but with a satisfied look on their faces.  Eager to show off their work, we all threw on our coats and went outside. Standing out front, the lights were plugged in and the house lit up. I have to admit, they did a good job. There were no accidents, no injuries and no battle between humans and gravity. Where's the fun it that?