Thoughts on Holiday Greetings

In the spirit of the holiday season when friends and relatives share greetings, I thought it fitting to share an experience of mine that happened some years ago.

The card arrived just about this time every year. It was always a traditional card with holly or poinsettias. It always contained a nicely written note, usually reminiscing about good times long past.

It came by airmail. Par Avion it said on the envelope. This particular year, the stamp cost 37 cents and it was marked “Post Early.” It came from a relation in a town called Hucclecote, Gloucester.

I’d come to expect the friendly greeting, especially the little comments about simpler times back in England. The writer’s name was Jack.

This year would be different, though. I expected it may be the last time we heard from Jack because this year I’d have to write back, something I’ve always meant to do but just couldn’t.

I wrote… “Dear Jack, I regret to inform you that your cousin Derek no longer lives at this address … and hasn’t for nearly two decades.” I told Jack that his cousin sold his house to us over 18 Christmases ago and moved away. I told him that, unfortunately, I’d never actually met Derek because he had already moved and his lawyer (solicitor, I wrote) handled the sale.

I didn’t tell him that I thought old Derek was not the “lovely lost cousin” he thinks he is. That Derek is probably not lost, but is hiding. Why else would he not have written to tell his dear, devoted cousin that he had moved so long ago?

I told Jack that I think his cousin lived in California but that I didn’t know where. I said that Derek’s grown son did stop by once, a year or two before while on a business trip east. He said his folks were well.

I apologized for reading his notes every year. That I was looking for a return address but he never gave one before. I was sure to mention how much I enjoyed his little stories about him and Derek when they were kids, and how he thought Derek’s wife Dorothy was so beautiful in her high school picture. And I said that he didn’t need to send the copy he promised.

I told him I’m sorry I called him “Jack” but that he never signed his full name before. And, besides, I felt as though we were old friends. I assured him that 67 was not old and that he was not going to “kick the bucket” soon. I wished him good luck in his search for his “cousin in America.”

I told him I would miss him … and his cards, too. And, I wished him a Merry Christmas.

I did hear back from Jack. He sent a letter apologizing for “bothering” me all those years but said I’d remain on his Christmas card list. I never heard from him again.

By Dick Morgado

 

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