Holiday Stories and Poems

A Special Brother

He was always special. That day he became even more so.

A Writer’s Cramp story (1,000 words or less/24 hours)

Prompt: Write a STORY or POEM about the most humorous holiday gift
someone ever received. First or third person is okay.

A Special Brother

The Elf Flip-Flop Hat looked comical. Philip wore it nonchalantly, oblivious to its constant tail-wagging top. I thought the movement would bug him, but not even the stares of everyone ruffled Philip’s attitude.

To watch my brother as he strode down the street, his nose in the air, his long, lean legs marching, one would think his mind was fastened on business, but I, his sister knew otherwise. That faint wrinkle at the right side of his mouth, the way his lips twinged in suppressed laughter told me Philip enjoyed his flaunt, loved its craziness.

Where he’d gotten the hat, I had no idea. Its red and green felt material glowed at the top, a shiny bubble of red. It blinked, too – on and off. But that wasn’t the key component which made people gape. The flip-flop motion of it dropped their jaws, made them halt in their passage, broke their lips into chuckles, and brought sparkles into their eyes.

Earlier I’d studied the hat’s action, searched for a pattern, but there didn't seem to be one. The movements came randomly. Possibly, the action had something to do with my brother's head-tilts. I was never sure.

The hat made a sensation everywhere Philip wore it. People forgot their problems, their worries, their shortages of money. Folks smiled at each other, gestured, laughed, traded compliments, exchanged Christmas greetings.

I guess you could say Philip’s hat acted like an ambassador of good cheer. It forced the holiday spirit into people, made them stop and appreciate the joy of the season. Exactly what Philip intended. He loved Christmas, wanted to share it.

Philip was always clown-like in spirit, had a joke for everything, for everyone. He was good at lightening a mood, too, like the time an earthquake shook the overhead light fixtures, crashed glassware, and terrorized people at a crowded restaurant. Philip without a moment’s hesitation, stood up, yelled out, “Feel that? Santa’s reindeer must have landed on the roof!”

Everyone clapped when Philip said that. Then with smiles on their faces, where a moment before they’d been white-faced in panic, the crowd exited and waited patiently for the all-clear.

Philip’s twenty-four years, nine more than my fifteen made him the perfect big brother. Did I mention, it also made him my hero? Philip was always special, the best brother anyone could have. He looked after me, checked out my high school dates, slipped me a ten dollar bill now and then when our folks weren’t looking. But that’s the normal stuff. That holiday, Philip’s pedestal soared even higher. He climbed right up beside my other heroes, Benjamin Franklin and Isaac Asimov.

The day he wore that funny hat, we were heading downtown to Christmas shop for our parents’ presents. I thought we should buy them each the usual -- a tie for Dad, an apron for Mom, but Philip had other ideas. “Let’s get Mom a shiny tool set and for Dad a beginner’s cookbook,” he said.

I laughed hard when Philip suggested that. I know things were supposed to be different in our modern world, but if you knew our parents, the switch Philip proposed was hilarious.

We were just about to enter Macy’s when Philip came to a full-stop. “Hold it, Princess,” he said, using the nickname I’d asked him not to call me anymore.

I made a rude noise, gave him a look of irritation, but Philip wasn’t glancing my way. His eyes were on an old man, one hunched over in the cold, sitting on the sidewalk. The man wasn’t dressed for the cold. His bare arms had goose bumps, his face looked wan, his cheeks held the rosy tint of someone out too long in the chilly winter air.

“Gotta take him some holiday cheer,” Philip said as he dragged me over.

My brother emptied out his wallet. All he had was a fifty dollar bill, the money he'd planned to spend on our folks.

I knew it would be pointless to argue. That was my brother, the way he always acted, even before he began studying for the ministry.

The homeless man thanked us. His blackened teeth grinned like a day old jack-o-lantern. I started to pull away, not wanting to linger. The fellow reeked, to be honest.

But Philip wasn’t done yet. He noticed how the man’s eyes had attached themselves to his silly elf hat.

“That be the funniest thing I ever done seen,” the man kept saying.

With a movement so fast I barely caught it, Philip set his hat down on the man’s head. The old guy’s grin, that pumpkin grin, widened even bigger. His face took on the look of a toddler’s on Christmas morning. Like happiness could broaden and flow outward, it seemed like that whole area suddenly brightened.

“Merry Christmas,” Philip said.

The two of us walked back to Macy’s, then exchanged a look. We no longer had enough money even to buy our parents a tie and apron.

“Got Dad’s cell phone?” Philip asked.

We took a picture. The homeless man, smile so wide it encompassed the crowd gathered around him, had started dancing. The funny hat, doing a steady flip-flap from side to side kept time, and everyone was laughing, the kind of laughter that ripples wider and wider.

If a picture could sing, We wish you a Merry Christmas, that was it.

With the cell phone in hand, we stopped at a printing place, had the picture blown up and framed. On Christmas morning when Mom and Dad opened it, they smiled as we told them the story of the laughing crowd and the old man who’d suddenly turned young enough to dance.


*******

My folks hang that picture on the wall each Christmas. We gather about it and smile over the silly hat and the happy old man. And especially for the memory of how Philip, killed on his first missionary trip in 2009, used to dole out joy wherever he went.

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1,000 words



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