Merry Christmas!

Christmas time was around the corner, and I got busy shopping. My father came to Kansas City from Russia for his first visit; he was ecstatic, finally seeing me on both feet.

 “Christmas is coming. What do we cook?” My father was talking unusually fast and loud; it was his first Christmas in America.

“Oh, Papa! That is two weeks away. We have plenty of time.”

“Your sister always has her refrigerator full. I checked with your sister, and she told me that we need to buy turkey and ham. I even wrote it down.”

“Papa, I know what to buy. Julia is here; she knows even better. We will be fine!”

Two days before Christmas, my Dad closed the refrigerator with noticeable anxiety, “Lida, when are we going to buy food for Christmas dinner?”

I smiled, “Dad, there is plenty of food in America! We will never be hungry! Let’s finish Christmas shopping, and then we will buy food.”

My Dad and I continued shopping every night after work, bringing home more and more gifts. My Dad just didn’t know how easy life in America was and made me smile again, so we shopped, like Americans say, “until we dropped.”

I woke up early on Christmas morning and went out of the apartment; the weather was just right. I was afraid that we wouldn’t be able to show a white Christmas to my Dad, and here it was – the first snow: fresh and frosty, generously weighing pine branches down to the ground next to the sidewalk. I imprinted my first steps into American snow and laughed; it reminded me of how my sister Irina and I used to fall into the snow to make a butterfly imprint, spreading our arms like wings, and pressing them on both sides of our bodies, up and down. I breathed the cold air in and felt alive.

“Lydia, before you drive, you should warm up the car and the engine. Do not take off until it is warm.”

I smiled, starting the car. “This is not a Russian car, Dad!”

I drove to Hy-Vee and was taken aback to see an empty parking lot. “How unusual! Ah, the weather! Americans do not like to drive in the snow!” I guessed, approaching the closed door. “How unusual! Maybe the store is out of power?” I drove to another store; this is America - stores are on every corner. The parking lot of Hen House was empty. I panicked, “Did I miss something?”

The lesson was harsh; we celebrated Christmas, looking for whatever we had in my kitchen cabinets: two cans of tuna and one egg. No milk and no bread. Luckily, the gas stations were open, and we had lunch across the street, standing on our feet.

“Thank you for Christmas dinner!” My Dad laughed, showing his gold tooth. His optimism beat out even his own disappointment and hunger. Later at home, we had even more fun, laughing at me. Dad came up with his favorite saying, “A-a-a-merica!”