I鈥檓 seven years old.
It鈥檚 Christmas morning, 1992.聽 My brothers and I are too giddy for our own good, feeling like鈥ell, kids on Christmas morning.聽 We barrel down the hallway and wake up our sleep-deprived parents before the sun has a chance to kiss an angel good morning (RIP, Charley Pride).
Mom鈥檚 the first out of bed and goes to make a pot of coffee.聽 Dad鈥檚 taking his sweet time, no doubt trying to wake up some joints in his nearly 60-year-old frame.聽 Jack鈥檚 hair might be showing more silver than black these days, but the tough Irishman is still a force of nature when motivated and his grip equals that of a Grizzly bear who finally caught that elusive salmon.聽 Hell, a Grizzly probably wishes.
The parents properly settled into their typical spots in the living room, they give my brothers and I the greenlight to tear into our presents.聽 The 鈥榤ain event鈥� that year is a Nintendo video game system, complete with controllers and two Super Mario games.聽 The three of us are ecstatic; the kind of excitement I can only assume is now produced whenever Apple releases their newest overpriced gadget.聽 Simpler times, that鈥檚 for sure.
We waste no time in setting up the Nintendo, and even a coffee and baking-fueled Dad (cookies and butter tarts are fine for lunch on Christmas Day) gets in on the action as we teach him how to shoot the gun in Duck Hunt.聽 Dad鈥檚 an okay marksman as far as blasting away pixelated waterfowl, but he can鈥檛 be convinced that the dog is not fair game whenever the virtual pooch giggles at Player One鈥檚 missed shots.聽 The phone calls start in the kitchen, and soon the Ruttle house will be filled with visiting family for more gifts, games, and Christmas dinner.
Things are different now though - there鈥檚 a pandemic gripping the world.聽 There are restrictions.
I鈥檓 17 years old.
It鈥檚 Christmas morning, 2002.聽 I鈥檓 not particularly enthused about gifts this year as I鈥檓 growing older and one starts to realize that there鈥檚 so much more to this holiday than just a mountain of consumer goods piled under a colorful tree.
That having been said, one thing I鈥檝e been bothering Dad about lately is a problem I鈥檝e been running into out at the barn just north of town where we keep our horses.聽 It being winter on the good old Saskatchewan prairie, the temperature has dropped considerably and it鈥檚 managed to make hauling water a more physical affair.聽 My daily routine after school is filling two 5-gallon jugs with water and taking it out for the horses.聽 The problem I鈥檓 running into is that the water, of which the temperature is very warm to hot to begin with in order to combat the temperature, turns to ice if the horses don鈥檛 drink it all out of the trough.聽 Sometimes I can punch the ice in order to crush it, provided the layer is thin enough, but soon there鈥檚 a four-foot long, six-inch deep block of ice in the trough.
Knowing the horses won鈥檛 be cool with just licking this block to gain their H20 sustenance, I either have to break it up by hand, by foot, or one of Dad鈥檚 household hammers.
But on this Christmas Day, my prayers have been answered in the form of a long object wrapped in yellow plastic Home Hardware bags.聽 Dad hands it to me with the warning, 鈥淔or Christ鈥檚 sake, don鈥檛 grab it by THIS end!鈥�
Fifteen seconds later, I鈥檓 staring at an axe.聽 I can鈥檛 help but think that our thin-skinned, perpetually-offended society in 2020 would no doubt find something reprehensible with a father gifting his teenage son with something that could easily be used to go on a killing spree.聽 But this gift is all about practicality; the only thing I鈥檓 itching to hack and slash at is that damn ice in the trough.
Soon enough, here come the brothers, sisters and nieces to join in our Christmas celebrations.
Things are different now though 鈥� there鈥檚 a pandemic gripping the world.聽 There are restrictions.
I鈥檓 33 years old.
It鈥檚 Christmas morning, 2018.聽 A different locale for the Ruttles this year as we packed up our SUVs three days earlier and headed up North for a few days at Candle Lake, where we鈥檙e staying in a gorgeous cabin that we all pitched in to rent.聽 This is something Mom has always had on her bucket list, and I only wish that Dad was here nestled beside her next to the fireplace.聽 Jack would鈥檝e loved it up here.
Powder-fresh snow dots the ground outside and in the trees, where scurrying squirrels send tufts of it billowing into the air.聽 Handfuls of deer make their presence known, sauntering through the property every few minutes and enjoying the carrots we toss in the yard.聽 Not long after Santa鈥檚 reindeer make their exit, a lone fox enters the picture and stands out with its rich, orange fur.聽 It scampers up the steps and looks inside the cabin鈥檚 huge picture window at us.聽 Soon, a dry rib or three is tossed onto the deck and we finally discover just what the fox says 鈥� num-num-num-num-num, apparently.
This Christmas is different, but in the best way possible.
Things are different now though 鈥� there鈥檚 a pandemic gripping the world.聽 There are restrictions.
But it won鈥檛 be like this forever.聽 Yes, Christmas 2020 is indeed the one that the COVID-19 pandemic struck a major blow, and we鈥檝e gone from having some unforgettable holidays to living in unprecedented times, but I happen to think that by being forced to 鈥榞o small鈥� in our holiday celebrating, some of us might be reminded of just what the season is supposed to be all about.
It鈥檚 not about going broke on merchandise or the expenses associated with holiday traveling.聽 It鈥檚 about being together, whether it鈥檚 under one roof or with the assistance of a steady internet connection.聽 We鈥檒l see each other again.
Until then, appreciate the unique opportunity this Christmas is actually giving us.
For this week, that鈥檚 been the Ruttle Report.
