Summer nights in the tropics are not always perfect as often shown in travel log programs. Living on the bay during the summer proved to be more than I could bear at times. Jellyfish swarmed the bay during the summer. They have little or no mobility of their own so they frequently were washed ashore. At high tide, when the carcasses were covered by water the smell was not bad. One had to only be careful where one walked. However, the stench from the rotting bodies at low tide was unbelievable.
Sleep on nights that the jellyfish were onshore and the trade winds were still was next to impossible. Coupled with the chirp of the lizards as they scampered about looking for insects and the cacophony of other night creatures, the odor of rotting bodies made it difficult to settle down to a restful sleep. Many were the night that I lay awake, staring off into space, listening to the various sounds, wishing I were somewhere else.
Other nights were delightfully different. While the refreshing trade winds gently blew in from the bay, noises seemed to become stilled. The breezes gently caressed my face as I slumbered in peaceful bliss on those nights. I seldom heard anything on those occasions. What I did hear was the rhythmic breathing of my brother sleeping in the next bed, the soft swaying of palm trees. Along with the sounds, the fragrant perfume of tropical flowers drifted on the air currents and filled the room with a pleasant aroma not at all like the smell of decaying jellyfish.
Tropical nights were times of solitude. They were times of reflection. They were perfect times to commune with God. They were times for meditation. Even I, as a young child, had a strong desire to know why I was placed on this earth. I often read the New Testament, a gift from my grandfather. In it I found a beautiful story about a man named Jesus who died to save men's souls. I didn't fully understand at the time what it meant, but I was sure that it was something special. After all, didn't we celebrate His birth and death and something called resurrection? I was not certain what this had to do with me until many years later.
Christmas celebration, in the tropics, is different from anything I had yet experienced. Since there was very little notice of changing seasons, I found it difficult to "get into the spirit" of the season. Lights and decorations were put up, but looked out of place on palm trees. There was, of course, no snow to make snowmen. Plastic snowmen sprung up all around. I thought the meaning of Christmas was to give and receive presents and to be off from school. I really did not realize that we were celebrating the birth of the Savior.
One Christmas, my family drove into Pearl Harbor to buy the traditional Evergreen tree. I heard my dad complaining about the price of everything. He was constantly grumbling about the cost being so high. He also complained that the trees we were looking at had probably been cut down in August and shipped by slow boat. All of the so called evergreens had a slightly brown tint to them. The needles fell off if you would pull on them gently. Dad finally settled on a tree, and we took it home.
The tree had to be decorated in a specific way. Dad had to first check to see that the lights all worked. Then he placed them on the tree one string at a time. It was an excruciatingly slow process. The rest of the tree could not be decorated until Dad was satisfied with the placement of the lights. The angel on the top came next. Since Dad was the tallest, he had the honor of also placing the angel in just the right spot. Finally, it was my turn, along with my brother. We put the glass balls on the tree with extreme care. Each one had to be near a light, so it would reflect the light. Then the tinsel "icicles" were added. They had to go on one piece at a time so that they were not matted or bunched together. Once all this was done came the crowning glory. Dad turned out all the house light and we waited with great anticipation as he turned on the tree lights.
"OOOH! AAH!" was the exclamation.
"What a beautiful tree."
"Yea! We really out did ourselves this year."
After the lighting of the tree, the presents would be brought out and placed under and around the tree. Care was taken to put my presents together, my brother's together, and Morn's and Dad's together. Sometimes we would sit and sing Christmas Carols. Most of the time we would discuss what we wanted for Christmas. Dad would usually open by saying something corny like,
Well, this has been another fine year. We made it through with our health and we really should be thankful for that."
"Yes, I am thankful that we are healthy," said Mom. "I still wish that we could have peace and happiness throughout the world."
"Peace and happiness are OK," replied Karl. "I would rather have a ten speed bike."
"Me too," I chimed in. (That's how I earned the nickname "ME, TOO."
"I would like nothing more than to have a happy family," said Dad.
And so it would go deep into the night. Luckily it was a Saturday night. I didn't have to get up for school the next morning. Anticipation of Christmas day was unbearable. The more that I saw the presents; the more I wanted to open them. It looked like there were more presents under the tree every day. And indeed there were. Mom had the idea that if you put a few out every day, the excitement would grow. She was right. At long last, Christmas Eve came.
After dinner my brother and I could hardly sit still. Carols would be softly playing on the radio, the tree lights were turned on, and the last of the presents were wrapped and brought into the room. There was a tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve. I always wanted to open the biggest one; Karl wanted the smallest one. We had to agree on what to open before would were allowed to open anything.
"Let's open that little one there," Karl said.
"No. I want to open that big one.”
"I’m the oldest, so I get to choose."
"You got to choose last year!”
"I did not."
"Did too"
"Did not"
"Now, boys, let's not have an argument on Christmas Eve,” Dad said.
“But, Dad, Karl did get to choose last year.”
“No I didn't.”
"Enough!" Dad ordered.
"Oh, all right, Karl. We will open the little ones," I gave in. I usually did.
"Now you're being sensible," Dad said. I didn't feel sensible.
Karl and I went to bed early on Christmas Eve. We were well aware that Mom and Dad didn't put all the presents out until we were asleep. They put a sheet up to cover the hallway door, so we wouldn't peek. A sheet really wouldn't stop us from looking but we were on our honor. Because we were trusted, Karl and I never looked.
As soon as they thought we were asleep, they would bring in the big presents. They also brought in the presents from "Santa". I don't know how it was that we never had any confusion over which present was meant for whom, even though we were both boys.
Morning would come too slowly for Karl and me; too quickly for Mom and Dad. Karl and I would wake up first. We sat in our beds softly taking, trying not to disturb our parents. Pretty soon our taking became louder and louder. Finally one of them would wake up and let us know it was all right to get up. We still couldn't go into the living room. Donning our bathrobes, we went to the bathroom and then pranced with nervous anticipation for the all clear to enter the living room. We waited for Mom and Dad to go in and turn the tree lights on and to get the camera ready for our surprised looks.
We were not neat. Once we were given permission to finally open the presents, we torn into them like demons. We had to first endure the torture of sitting for numerous pictures. Wrapping paper went flying everywhere.
"Slow down," Dad cautioned. "Keep the tag with the presents so you know who to thank for what."
"WOW! Look at this! I finally got my fishing rod!" I exclaimed!
“I got an electric razor," said Karl. "What am I going to do with a razor? I don't even shave."
"Don't worry, you will soon," said Mom.
After the excitement of unwrapping the presents subsided, Mom fixed breakfast. While she was busy in the kitchen, Karl and I played with our toys and Dad tried to put together those things that "some assembly was required". I didn't understand the grumbling under his breath until I became an adult myself and had to deal with the "any child can put it together". During breakfast, we talked about what we received and how grateful we were. Christmas time was a very special time.