I'll Be Home For Christmas

"My mother and father spent most of their lives in Henderson, Nevada. The small, dusty sidecar of Las Vegas. Henderson was just like any other town in America, only with slot machines in the laundromat. It was 1990, and Vegas was booming, baby! But Jeanie and Terry weren't gamblers or dealers or mafiosos or lounge singers. They were just two normal people trying to keep up with the pack in a one-hundred-and-sixteen-degree rat race. And those rats; they'd nibbled long enough. Now, I don't know what a mosey looks like, but they packed up their house and their clothes and their me, and they moseyed on outta dodge. Of course, I had my gripes about leaving. I mean, I had a life in Henderson. Kenny and Kevin Hebner were just two houses up. The desert fort behind my house wasn't gonna defend itself. But what could I do? I was nine. A nine-year-old can't just stage a sit-in while the rest of the family checks out. This wasn't a Home Alone movie, so... I went where the sweet'n'sour chicken was cooked, and the ice-cold, caffeine-free Coke was just a fridge away. And just like that, from sagebrush, slot machines and Elvis to Footloose, Onion Days and Jewel. She was born there, after all. This place called Payson, Utah. God's country. Population: blink, and you'll miss it. Dad got a job in the produce department at the Smith's Food King, which was fitting since he managed to produce six kids: April, Shelley, Amy, Stephanie and my brother Shane were the other five. I was in fourth grade at the time, an age when boys start thinking more like men. And there wasn't a dull moment: I'd had my first fight, my first crush, my first rodeo, but most importantly my first white Christmas. I did my best to fit in, and I did as my teachers said, but that year one teacher stood out from the rest. He didn't just stand out from the rest; he sung out. His name was Mr. Hansen. And on a frosty December morning, he explained to us the story of the old standard "I'll Be Home For Christmas". A tale of a World War II soldier stationed overseas, writing a letter to his family about the return that he may never make. I saw it struck deep in him. Now, it would be easy to describe Mr. Hansen as brave. After all, this was a man who himself had served his country during the Korean war. But getting up in front of twenty five nine-year-olds and singing a cappella? That's a whole other kind of bravery altogether. The other kids were looking for the nearest escape: they couldn't bear the embarrassment. But not me. I was wrapped up in it. I couldn't help myself. I knew I was experiencing something different from the others, but I was uplifted so it didn't matter. I felt the isolation of war. I felt the power of a song, and that's the kind of thing that sticks with you. You don't let it go. And so, for this here Christmas song, I have a friend I brought along. He's eighty six, but sounds like twenty, and though the other kids might find it funny, he'd like to sing his song for you, and if he doesn't mind I might join in too."

I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree

Oh Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree

Oh Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
If only in my dreams