Finding Father Christmas Read Online Free PDF

arena. I entered and stood to the side,
     waiting for my eyes to adjust.
    A booming voice called out, “Come in, come in!”
    It was the merry Scotsman. For a moment I froze, thinking he was extending the invitation to me.
    In actuality he was delivering the line onstage to a very short Scrooge who stood trembling before the ominous presence of
     the kilted greeter. Behind the Scotsman was an open door.
    The invitation was repeated by the man with the wide, wooly-white sideburns. “Come in, come in, and know me better, friend!”
    “Who are you and what is this place?” Scrooge cried in a pipsqueak voice. Under a long nightshirt and floppy cap, the leading
     actor was obviously a child.
    My spirit softened to all things theatrical. Some images of make-believe had never truly left me, no matter how belligerent
     I had been about them. Just as I had earlier remembered wanting to be Lucy walking through the wardrobe into Narnia, I now
     found myself disarmed by this classic Dickens character, who brought an Oliver Twist feel to the role of the miserly Scrooge.
     I could see myself in the pint-sized presence who now held center stage.
    The Scotsman wore a trim jacket atop his kilt and finished the look with a flat sort of hat perched slightly to the side and
     sporting a feather. From under the hat flowed a cascade of wavy white hair. I’d seen his balding head uncovered at the tea
     cottage and knew the tresses were part of his costume, but the tumble of hair was convincing.
    Taking his cue, the Scotsman declared, “I am the Spirit of Christmas Present.”
    I smiled.
So he really was a Christmas Present, just as he said.
    “What will you do to me, Oh Spirit of Christmas Present?” Young Scrooge asked.
    “Enter, and you shall see.” Christmas Present stepped to the side, and the sliding prop door was moved off-center by unseen
     stagehands. Where a dark closure had been, a wonderful spread of Christmas cheer was revealed, with a flickering fireplace,
     a tree trimmed in lights, a stack of gifts, and a table spread with a feast.
    “All has been made ready for you,” the Spirit of Christmas Present declared. “Come.”
    Scrooge hesitated.
    In that moment, I felt my defenses slide off me like pool water. All had been made ready for Scrooge, and yet he hesitated.
     I saw how I had been in that same Bah Humbug role for many years. I understood the hesitation. The standing back and not trusting.
     But no one had ever made a celebration ready for me and invited me to come in.
    An old fountain of tears I had kept capped for ages began to leak. Instead of looking for a seat in the back of the hall where
     I could watch the rest of the play anonymously, I slid through the velvet curtains and returned to the reception area.
    Feeling around in my large shoulder bag for a tissue, I didn’t notice the woman in pink as she came to my side.
    “Here,” she whispered. She held out to me a handkerchief with a pink rosebud embroidered in the corner. Once I’d dried my
     eyes and curbed my tears, I held onto the handkerchief and stared at the crumpled cotton in my hands as the woman patted my
     arm.
    I told her in a mumble that it had been a long day, hopingthat would explain my breakdown. But I wasn’t sure I could even explain to myself why the image of a feast and gifts accompanied
     by a warm invitation to Scrooge had struck such a chord of longing inside me. I sensed that Young Scrooge was being offered
     everything I wanted but didn’t know how to find.
    Taking a deep breath and summoning another round of fortitude, I whispered that I was fine. Really.
    With a nod of understanding, she continued with the gentle pats on my arm. All the while she seemed to be trying to fix her
     gaze on my eyes. Even in the dimmed lobby lights, I was sure the weariness of jet lag showed. No doubt she was checking for
     more tears. I had successfully repressed them and my eyelids were now puffing up with the reserves. Dabbing my nose, I