My Reflection on Christmas

Airplanes, flight complications, and tacky clothing

Christmas in my family is different every year.  We do have the basics that any family would have: decorations, a tree, Christmas albums, etc. But you could say that we definitely do not have any of the clichéd moments that some families have of the little brother getting tied up in Christmas lights, or the grandmother burning the turkey in the oven causing the family to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Christmas dinner.  Instead, my older brother comes to visit us from the US and we go to a different place (Langkawi and Vietnam, to name a few.) So was it so wrong for us to decide to go to a place like Greece for Christmas?  Apparently the gods did not think this to be such a good idea. 

Because plane tickets are expensive enough as it is, we decided to meet Glenn in Athens rather than have him fly out to KL first.  We had even coordinated it so that we would arrive at the airport an hour apart to meet.  But flying through London in December can be very risky.  Not expecting anything out of the ordinary, we received an urgent text message from my brother asking us to call him immediately.  So, what could possibly go wrong the night before a big trip to Europe, you might ask?  Having to go to the store to buy a last-minute tube of toothpaste?  Or having to run to the store to buy some socks?  No, he informed us that his flight had been canceled.  So, here I was, with my parents in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, finding out that my brother was in Los Angeles, California staying at a hotel near LAX with free meal vouchers but no reservation.  Maybe this would be how the holiday season would turn out for the Coffman family.  

The three of us arrived in Athens, only to remember that we wouldn’t see our blonde-haired family member awaiting us at the arrival area.  Keeping in constant contact for the next four days, Glenn was finally able to get a flight through London on Christmas Eve and would arrive in Athens on Christmas morning.  Not an ideal situation for us, but better than spending the festive season in different countries. 

Christmas morning came along and there he was:  my blonde-haired, blue-eyed big brother.  He had arrived at two o’clock in the morning when I was fast asleep and I couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas present.  But he sure could have.  Not only did he have a five-day delay coming here, his bag had also been lost in London.  This left the 22 year old man with only the filthy clothes he had on him to wear for who knew how long.  This left only one option:  the Big Bird t-shirt.  This t-shirt was famous among my family and was strictly used for sleeping only.  If it were worn outside in the real world, disaster would strike.  But, the Big Bird shirt was the only piece of my clothing that would fit my six foot one inch brother and he would have to wear it.  For someone who had suffered through a similar fiasco, this wouldn’t be too big a deal, but for my brother it certainly was.  One thing you should know, dear reader, my brother is about as picky with clothing as a 6 year old is with food.  His attire is limited to t-shirts and shorts and even a polo shirt is out of his range.  So, a billowy, white shirt with a large children’s television show character over the entire front and back would definitely be a near-death experience for him. 

Walking through the streets of Athens, I would turn my head to see my brother covering his chest with his arms to try and hide the ridiculous yellow bird that occupied 85% of the shirt.  Normally, one would use a sweatshirt to cover this atrocious piece of clothing, but as if the Greek gods had punished him for something, the zipper on his sweatshirt happened to be broken leaving him with his arms as his only shield.  Worse yet, his bag did not arrive for 3 full days.  He believed that every Athenian in the street was snickering at him behind his back.  So, it was decided, Christmas 2010 would be an unforgettable one with canceled flights, lost bags, Big Bird t-shirts, and much laughter.

Note:  The above photo was taken after Glenn's bag had arrived, giving him access to clean clothes.  The sweatshirt, however, is the same one as described and does have a broken zipper.  

Third Person Experience: The Big Move

One fall day, a young girl and her friend came home from school and stopped when the girl reached her house.  Her friend asked her if she wanted to come to her house and the girl decided to call her mother first, knowing that she would want to know where she was.  She quickly asked her mother in French whether she could go to her friend's house and was surprised by her mother's answer.  No?  The girl was not allowed?  In an impulsive, angry manner she hung up the phone on her mother, which she soon realized was not a good idea.  Thinking to herself that things would get ugly when her mother returned home, she said goodbye to her friend and skipped up the front steps of her home.  She waited and waited, and finally she saw her mother climb up the front steps to the front door.  Bracing herself for the worst, the girl was surprised by her mother's reaction, to say the least.  She greeted the girl with a cheerful bonjour, and walked into the living room with the girl's father.  The girl may have only been 11 years old, but she knew when something was not right.  What was going on?

Her parents told her that they needed to speak with her about something.  The girl had no idea what to expect.  Would it be good news... or bad news?  Her father made a brief introduction about how jobs were not easy to come by and that when there was an opportunity, it had to be taken.  The girl knew that finding a job was not like picking a cherry off of a tree, but, what did this have to do with her?  The next words that escaped the mouth of her eloquent father, were words that she knew she would never forget.

A job offer... in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia?  The girl could not even pronounce these words, let alone imagine what life would be like there.  Not knowing how to react, tears begin to trail down her face.  Moving to this place, to Malaysia, would mean leaving her best friends and leaving the place that she had come to call her home.  The girl had lived overseas before, Pakistan and Abu Dhabi were places that she had discovered at a very young age, but when she and her family moved to Davis, California, she was told that they would not move again, that this was their home.  In a way of trying to reassure her, the girl's parents stated that they would come back to their beloved small town every summer and that she could see her friends again.  In a shaky and tear-filled manner, the girl inquired once again if she could go to her friend's house, and this time her parents agreed.  After leaving an incomprehensible message on the phone, she left to go break the news to her best friend.

She walked up the walkway to her friend's front door with wet and swollen eyes.  Her friend raced to the door wondering what on Earth had happened to the girl.  She sat down on the couch and attempting to form sentences, told her friend the horrific news.  At first the friend didn't believe that such a thing was true.  Malaysia?  Neither of them had even heard of this place before.  But after seeing the tears continuously roll down the girl's face, she understood that this was serious.  Both girls sat on that couch, crying, and not knowing what would come of the future.  And that moment, on that couch in her best friend's home, was the first time the young 11 year old girl had ever seen her best friend cry.