Christmas Day, 1993, I was running across I-8 in Arizona. Cold, miserable, threatening snow. I was eastbound, hoping to see my kids the next day (and they got a second Christmas!) in southeast New Mexico.
I saw a state patrol car sitting in the median, and I hollered out on the CB, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Bear …” He answered back, “Merry Christmas, driver. Take care out there.”
I got about 5 miles down the road, and a driver hollered at me, “You sure had guts, talking to a bear!” I answered, “He’s human just like we are. He has a family. And he’s working on Christmas Day just like we are. Why not show him some kindness?”
About five minutes went by. The driver answered quietly, “You’re right. Merry Christmas.”
Over the years, due to “disagreements” with my ex-wife, I tried to see my kids a few days after a holiday, instead of fighting to see them on a holiday. My kids grew up having two Christmases, two Thanksgivings, two Easters, two birthdays a year. They liked it!
Guys, if you’re fighting to see the kids on holidays, this might be a compromise. No fighting, and the kids get two holidays!
Merry Christmas!
