A Christmas Story

My sister Kaye shared a great holiday story with me yesterday. I can't stop thinking about it, so I'll share it with you.

Entering the church with our parents for Christmas Eve mass, Kaye found herself sitting behind a family we know, the Hogans. Mr. and Mrs. Hogan, now in their sixties, were there, along with three of there grown children and their families. Mrs. Hogan suffers from a degenerative disease, and is confined to a wheelchair. She relies on a portable oxygen tank and canula to help her breathe.

Catholic masses being what they are, there was incense involved, and the altar boy stood in the aisle next to Mrs. Hogan’s wheelchair to light the incense burner. Or, more specifically, right next to the oxygen tank on Mrs. Hogan’s wheelchair. Unfortunately the incense wouldn’t light, so the altar boy kept flicking his lighter, repeatedly creating a flammable spark.

Most of the congregation paid no notice, but for people with a healthy respect for the effect of fire on an open oxygen tank, this was a tense moment. These folks, like Kaye the firefighter, Mr. Hogan, and anyone who saw the recent Grey’s Anatomy episode where the guy on oxygen wanted one last cigarette and torched his hospital room, held their breath.

Kaye watched Mr. Hogan’s eyes widen and his frown deepen as they both debated whether or not to step forward. A fierce inner battle raged: Catholics barely sing and speak during church, let alone interfere with incense lighting. Their hearts pulsed and their palms sweat, but the pressure to remain frozen outweighed the low to moderate risk of fiery death.

Fortunately the incense eventually caught without further incident. The altar boy handed the burner to the priest, and he went on his fragrant way, thoroughly smoking out the Hogans and my family as he passed.

After their incense-induced coughing fits subsided, Kaye and Mr. Hogan breathed a sigh of relief, and offered silent prayers of thanks. They were free to return to thoughts of sugarplums dancing in their heads.

I admit it - I love that the very real threat of an exploding oxygen tank can become a delightful holiday anecdote. This wasn't a suspenseful story when Kaye told it, it was a knee slapper.

It has all the necessary ingredients of a funny story: an wholesome family, an idiot, something unexpected, a dramatic moment, and a happy ending. Obviously, if the Hogans had actually all died in a murderous fireball, laughing about this would have been in poor taste, at least for six months or so, but here there was no harm, and thus, no foul.

It also probably helps that Kaye and I like our funny with dash of macabre, though that implications of that are too troubling to probe deeply.

Too bad there was no poor kid with a cap and a cane, or it could have been a classic.

God bless us, every one.