« Please don’t make everybody mad at me. »
There it was.
The sentence I would remember long after that Christmas ended.
My son wasn’t angry about missing dinner.
He wasn’t demanding an apology.
He was afraid that defending himself would make him even less welcome.
I put both hands on his shoulders.
« Nobody gets to make you feel ashamed for helping your father. »
He nodded, though I could tell he wasn’t convinced.
I stood.
« Stay here a minute. »
« Dad? »
« Yeah? »
« Please don’t yell. »
I looked toward the house.
« I’ll try. »
And I meant it.
At least when I said it.
Inside, the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different.
Warm Christmas music played over hidden speakers.
The dining table stretched almost the entire length of the room.
My nieces and nephews sat together under sparkling lights.
There were roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, dinner rolls, and an enormous platter of prime rib.
