We are going on our annual last minute shopping trip around 9PM because the stores won't be as busy then and yet they are open late during this busy sale season. In my purse lies my mother's carefully composed wish list and my dad is on a mission to tick off as many things as he can. I have come along to validate his choices and help him make decisions. He knows my mother very well and can usually tell just as well as me what she will like, but still, it's important that I come and give my opinion too. It's a part of my job as the eldest and it's a part of the Christmas traditions in my family that I wouldn't trade for the world.
When I was younger, my dad was also my soccer coach and we spent many hours driving back and forth to practices together talking and thinking out loud and laughing. We have the same sense of humor. Now that I'm older, now that I can drive myself places, the times where we are alone in the car are few and far between. But, there's always this moment in December, I can count on it, even down to the orange peels and slight stickiness on the steering wheel.
"I gave you Mum's list, right?" he asks me as he accelerates to make it through a yellow light.
"Yes, I have it."
He casts me a smile, the one that says, 'you're such a good dependable daughter.' At least, it could be that one, or it could be the smile that says, 'I just saw a car, MAKE MODEL#, that I would love to own someday.' Either way, I smile back. He continues to weave his way through the traffic down Route 50, Celine Dion's These Are The Special Times CD can be heard faintly in the background. He doesn't care for the radio much but he adores Ave Maria. I now know why my mother couldn't find the CD when we were decorating the tree two weeks ago. What's Christmas without Celine Dion?
We don't say much of anything all the way to the mall, which he accomplishes in about half the time it normally takes me, due to frequent lane changing and bursts of well-timed acceleration. He just so happens to find an empty spot right outside the main entrance and soon we are inside with Christmas songs blasting over the loud-speaker and twinkling lights in every shop window. We head into JC Penney, find the specific socks detailed on the list, and start looking at sweaters.
"What about this blue one?" I ask, holding up one the color of cornflowers.
"OK, but what size?" He never knows what to get and always saves the receipt. Even though I usually get the color right, I'm not always good with the size either. It's the game we play every year, so in the end we just pick one and move onto the perfume.
After buying a bottle of Anaïs Anaïs, we head to a jewelry store. I simply love going to the jeweler's with my dad. He always talks just a minute too long with the sales person, to the point where they wonder if he's there to buy something or not. Then he makes them get out everything in the genre that he is looking for. This time it is pearl earrings. After he has asked the young, overly made-up, Helzberg Diamond's employee if she is enjoying the Christmas season and will she be skiing in the near future, he asks for her to pull out a pair of pearl drop earrings. What I know, but she doesn't know, is that he will probably end up buying these earrings. But, he still makes her get out the others, one after the other, until they're lined up on the counter. He asks me what I think and I tell him I like this one for the size, this other one for the color, this third one for the style. And of course, I confirm what I already know to be his top choice. He goes so far as to ask Jenny, (he has seen her name badge by now) if I can try on a pearl and diamond pair. Finally, he buys the pearl drop earrings just like I knew he would, but only because by this time the sales clerk is just desperate and tells him there is a holiday special where he can get 15% off. After a "Merry Christmas, Jenny," we finally head back to the car mission accomplished.
Christmas Eve will find us wrapping all the presents for my mother, including small things for scrapbooking and a half open bag of chocolates that were hidden in the garage, but that my dad had to dip into because he had had a "chocolate emergency." I've also found her some cute lotions at Bath & Body Works, as well as some other small things from Target. There will be new white board markers and some pens. We don't wrap things individually though, because we haven't the time. Sometimes, we're even lazy with the socks.
I can see it all now, smell the freshly peeled clementines, hear Celine belting it out, feel the sales person's displeasure, but I am not there this year. It's a first. I will not go on this special trip with you this year, Dad. Although I know it's selfish, if you take a sister I hope it's not the same. I hope you miss me as much as I miss you and our annual tradition. And when you listen to the CD I hope you think of me:
And through it all one thing will always be true;
The special times are the times I spend with you.
Merry Christmas, Dad, and try not to wait 'til the 23rd this year!
