Christmas Warmth

By CHRISTINE HARRY
I was 11 years old. Old enough not to believe in Santa but young enough to still have childlike anticipation for Christmas morning. My brother and I were opening presents as Mom and Dad sipped their coffee. Later we would indulge in a pancake breakfast traditionally cooked by Chef Dad. All was merry and bright. Then the phone rang.
Silence filled the room. All eyes turned towards Dad. He was “on call.” That phone ringing could mean an end to our Christmas morning as Dad would have to leave us to deliver heating oil to someone who ran out.
Dad answered the phone. Sure enough he had to go out on delivery. We all groaned. My mom was annoyed. Dad didn’t say a word as he went to bundle up against the December cold. I followed him. “Go open your gifts,” he said. “No. I’ll wait for you,” I replied. “Well, I could be awhile.” “That’s ok. But why do you have to go at all. Isn’t it their fault they ran out on Christmas?” My dad sighed. “No honey, it isn’t their fault. They didn’t have the money to fill their tank last week. They thought they could make it through Christmas. They have small children and the house is ice cold. I am not going to have children in a cold house on Christmas Day. Or any day for that matter.”
Suddenly I saw my dad in a whole new light. He didn’t just deliver oil. He delivered warmth and comfort. More importantly, he was cheerful and kind about it even on Christmas Day! He knew customers depended on him and he respected them no matter the circumstances.
That year, for that cold family, Santa came in a red Grace Oil truck and wore a green Texaco cap. And they heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all and to all a warm night!”
NOTE: My dad, John Harry, worked for Grace Oil for 60 years, retiring at age 80. Even today as he approaches his 90th birthday, people around the county still recognize him as “the oil man” when he is out and about. Amazing. That’s my dad!
Christine Harry writes from North Wildwood/Ocean City.