Nights of Blues

Someone said to me, close your eyes and think of your favorite childhood Christmas memory. Mine is blue lights.

On our street, almost everyone put up Christmas lights. The older folks displayed electric candles with orange bulbs and sometimes twinkle lights in a window or two. But the homes with kids were outlined in those thick outdoor bulbs. Excitement grew as each night, a new house was illuminated. As the big day grew closer, the nights became brighter and more colorful.

My father had strands and strands of multicolored, socketed bulbs that he kept in cardboard boxes in the storage space above the garage. Every year, he'd take it all down and inspect the cords and plugs and bulbs. He'd test the lines to see which bulbs needed replacement. Then he'd position the ladder and begin. It was quite an undertaking which took hours.

It was this one December that stands out to me above all others. The whole family was driving around one night, admiring the house lights on other streets. I thought about how ours could be different this year.

"Hey dad, can we do all blue?"

All blue. Everyone liked the idea. Yea, that would be cool! All blue! was the general response.

"All blue," replied my father, his voice flat and unemotional. But I was hopeful. At least it wasn't a flat-out no. Or worse, "We'll see." Which is a parent's cruel, implied no.

A few nights later, our house glowed a groovy, eye-catching, mellow, mysterious blue. The deepest ocean within a sea of bright life.

 I can still see it now, eyes closed. I'll never forget it.

Merry Christmas. May what you love deep down within be your light.