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Problem in flight path Jennifer Taylor Being the child of an airline captain certainly has its advantages: dolls from China, athletic shoes from Taiwan, souvenirs from around the world. Those benefits also came with holiday wonder. I don’t mean the kind of magical awe of the season; I mean the uneasy wonder of dad’s hectic holiday schedule and the question of whether he would be able to spend the holidays at home. My older brothers recall the early days of my dad’s career and spending holidays without him, or even celebrating after dad returned from a trip. I came along after dad had gained enough seniority to be able to receive the preferred holiday “bids.” Translation: I have never endured one holiday without my dad at home. But, there was that one Christmas Eve ... It was Christmas Eve, 1977. I was seven years old. A terrible rain had been hammering Lodi for most of the day and night. My dad was scheduled to return home on Christmas Eve after a week-long trip. As the rain pounded my bedroom window and the wind howled, the hours ticked away and Christmas Eve was quickly turning into Christmas morning. My mom tried to assure me that dad would be home soon while pressuring me to go to sleep, threatening that, “Santa won’t come if you are not asleep.” At that point I didn’t care about Santa, I just wanted my dad home or Christmas would be ruined. I pretended to be asleep, but my mom knew the truth. Laying in bed I worried that my dad’s flight had been unable to land because of the bad weather or that something happened between the San Francisco airport and home. As I tossed around in my bed, I finally saw the raindrops on my window light up in the reflection of my dad’s headlights. At last, I could sleep. Or so I thought. With my dad home and Christmas saved, my worry turned to excitement for what tomorrow had to offer. As I thought of the toys that would be waiting for me in the morning. I heard my parents talking. “Sorry I am so late, we would have landed earlier but there was a problem in the flight path,” Dad said to Mom. “Problem? What kind of problem? Mom asked. “Well, there was this aircraft shaped like a sleigh that tied up a lot of planes trying to land.” At this point I was having a hard time controlling my anxiety. Dad continued, “I got a pretty good look at the pilot; he had on a red uniform and a long white beard, which is against FAA regulations.” Dad went on to tell my mom that he thought he saw a bag of wrapped boxes in the cargo area of his “aircraft.” Bubbling over with the excitement of knowing my own father had just had a run-in with Mr. Clause himself was too much for me to handle. I jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Out of breath and unable to contain my happiness, I began to question my dad who was still dressed in his own pilot’s uniform. “Did the sleigh have any reindeer in front of it?” I frantically asked. “Well, yeah, I think there were about eight of them,” Dad answered. “Okay,” I said trying to figure this all out. “Did one of the reindeers have a red nose?” “I believe so,” Dad replied. “Dad,” I hollered, “That was Santa Claus! “Yes, that was him, Dad, that was Santa Clause! You saw Santa!” I screamed. “Maybe you’re right, but you need to get to sleep to make sure he makes a stop at this house,” Dad instructed. After giving kisses to mom and dad I started back down the hall to my bedroom. Suddenly I realized that I forgot to ask the most important question of Christmas Eve. “Dad,” I yelled from the hallway, “What way was he going?” Lodinews Home | News | Sports
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