At Christmas supper last night, we posed the question, “What was your most memorable Christmas?” That was a toughie. Many Christmas memories blend together in my mind.
Twenty four hours later, I’ve zeroed in on 1983 as my most memorable Christmas.
This was the first year I didn’t go home for Christmas. I was in the middle of my second year of seminary education in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I decided to stay there to play trumpet for Christmas Eve services at historic downtown St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, and then drive to my fiancée’s home in Columbus on Christmas Day.
But it was cold. Really cold. 30 below zero cold. Almost all the other churches in the city cancelled their worship services that night. I was driving a 1980 Volkswagen Rabbit diesel. Diesel fuel has a problem with sub-zero temps and the sad, slow rowl-rowl-rowl of the starter let me know my car wasn’t going anywhere that night. A well-meaning friend suggested, “Just have them inject some ether. That’s how they start up the big rigs.” Since I wasn’t a big rig parked at a truck stop, I called around and got a ride to and from church that Christmas Eve.
The next morning, some friends of my fiancée’s family were headed to Columbus, and gave me a ride to join the family for Christmas Day. From there were were supposed to drive to Philadelphia to spin time with my family. My Father-in-law let us use his pickup truck for the trip. It had dual twenty-five gallon gas tanks to quench its thirst for fuel and got us there and back safely.
On this trip, my future wife got to meet my parents, Labrador Retriever, and former coworkers from Bell Labs.
By the time I got back to Fort Wayne, the temperatures had moderated, and my car started right up. A memorable Christmas in the books.
Waite for it... 