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About Cottage Grove sentinel. (Cottage Grove, Or.) 1909-current | View Entire Issue (Dec. 24, 2020)
COTTAGE GROVE SENTINEL | DECEMBER 24, 2020 | 3B The Cautionary Christmas Tale of Alex Riley From the Editor’s Desk Ned Hickson (Note: What follows is a Christmas tale based on a true-life experience that I tell each year on Christmas Eve. Before I share it, I always ask myself, “Is this still relevant?” And with each passing year it seems to become even more so. The following story is a mixture of fact, whimsy, hope and my utter belief that a heartfelt wish is the corner- stone of life’s most important magical moments. Merry Christmas to all of our readers and thank you so much all your support this past year...) H e looked very out of place sitting alone in the flight terminal, his arms folded over a Superman backpack, and large brown eyes peering out from be- neath his baseball cap. A few seats away, a key- board recital was being performed by a business- man wearing Bluetooth headphones and chastising someone at “headquarters” about overspending. “I said gifts for the im- mediate staff only,” he in- structed, keyboard clatter- ing continuously. “But that’s it. I never said anything about the sales department. What? Of course you’re in- cluded with the immediate staff. Get yourself some- thing.” The boy shifted, causing his plastic chair to squeak a bit as he leaned toward the businessman. “Hey, um… Dad?” For the first time, the man’s fingers left the key- board, just long enough to wave his son to silence. The boy obeyed and hugged his backpack a little closer to his chest. “Hold on a second,” Lap- top-man said, cupping the microphone. “Hey, Alex, keep an eye on this for me. I’m going to the restroom.” He slid the computer onto the empty seat next to his son and made his way through the crowded ter- minal, still talking into the headpiece. Alex watched his dad disappear, then brought his gaze to the laptop’s glowing screen. It wasn’t a look of intrigue, or even mischief. Reaching over, he pushed the device forward, teeter- ing it on the edge of the seat. He sat staring at it, the debate of whether or not to push it to the floor evident on his face. After a minute, he thought better of it and slid the laptop back on the seat. “You should’ve done it,” I & shoppe play buy stay ge tta ve Co ro G Keep it local. said, startling him. I had been watching the events unfold for the last few minutes as I waited at Portland Airport for my friend to arrive from Dallas. Slowly, an uncertain smile materialized on the boy’s face, then quickly fad- ed. “My dad would be pretty mad.” I looked up at the depar- ture board. “You guys live in Chicago, huh?” “My Dad does. We’re gonna spend Christmas to- gether.” I nodded without com- ment, deciding instead to change the subject. “Did you see Santa this year?” He shook his head. “I wrote him a letter.” “What did you ask him for?” The boy withdrew into the chair, suddenly interest- ed in the large, red zipper running along his backpack. He traced it with his finger, averting my gaze for a time before finally whispering, “Only Santa can know.” (Note: The next part of this story is pure specu- lation, based on a hastily spoken eyewitness account — And a handwritten note bound for the North Pole…) S till talking into his Bluetooth, Alex’s father emerged from the bath- room stall and squirted soapy gel onto his hands. “Are Alex’s presents there yet? Great. What did I get him?” he asked, rinsing himself, then pressing the hand dryer to life. “That sound’s good. What else?” Suddenly, flurries bil- lowed from the dryer, cov- ering his hands with what appeared to be snow. “What the…? Hold on a second,” he said, shaking off the cold, white powder. He moved to the paper towel dispenser and cranked the handle. Christmas wrap emerged and, along with it, a letter addressed simply: To Santa Claus Next to the postmark, the image of a mittened hand pointed to the words Re- turn to father. He studied it curiously, then flipped it over and noticed his son’s name above the return ad- dress. “You get that from the towel dispenser?” asked a man who was standing at the next sink. “Yes… yes I did.” “You going to open it?” Uncertain, he rubbed his chin. “It says ‘return to father,’ and that’s me, so I guess I should, huh?” The other man stepped to the hand dryer, thought better of it, reached for the towel dispenser — then simply wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I know I’d open it,” he finally said. With that, Alex’s father peeled back the lip of the en- velope and extracted a piece of notepaper. Unfolding it, he immediately recognized his son’s printing, and felt himself skip a breath. Dear Santa, Can use your magic to make my Dad want to spend time with me? If you can, I promise I’ll never ask for anything ever again. Love, Alex Riley. ment, then reached out his hand and nodded in the direction of the terminal gate. They had only gotten a few steps when I noticed the laptop still sitting on the seat. “Hey!” I yelled, waving it in the air. Mr. Riley stopped and looked at me through the crowd, shrugged and then boarded the plane with Alex to Chicago. More than a bit confused, I set the computer down and wondered to myself about what had just happened. That’s when I saw the man sitting just a few seats away — and the identical look of curiosity on his face. Looking up, he noticed me staring. “Listen, in a few minutes, I’m leaving for New York,” he blurted. “I’ll probably never see you again, so I can tell you this.” He moved closer and, with his hands clasped tightly in front of him, spoke of what he’d seen in the restroom. When he finished, the two of us sat wordlessly, neither of us certain of each oth- er. That’s when we noticed the laptop screen, which I’d left open, and these words scrolling continuously from top to bottom: His father stood staring at the note, oblivious of the man reading over his shoul- der. “Sure ain’t no Hallmark card,” the man commented. Wordlessly, Alex’s father refolded the note and care- fully slipped it back inside the envelope, then absently stuck it into his coat pock- et. As he left the restroom, a muffled voice could be heard emanating from his headpiece — which was now in the trash. Mr. Riley made his way back through crowd to the terminal, his footsteps awk- ward. Uncertain. As if re- tracing a once-familiar path that had become neglected and overgrown. Over the loudspeaker, boarding calls for Chicago had begun. “My dad’s coming back. I have to go,” Alex said, and Merry Christmas, Alex stood from his seat, back- pack hanging off one shoul- (And a Merry Christmas der. to all of you — Thanks for As his dad approached, reading. And believing…) he studied Alex for a mo- Community Unity SHOPPE, BUY & PLAY, STAY Cottage Grove, OR ASSISTED LIVING FACILITY Magnolia Gardens Assisted Living and Memory Care 1425 Daugherty 541.942.0054 EVENT CENTER The Cottage Events Venue 2915 Row River Rd, Cottage Grove, OR 97424 541-942-6888 AUTO DEALERSHIP Brad’s Cottage Grove Chevrolet 2775 Row River Rd 541-942-4415 CARPET CLEANING Quality Cleaning, Inc PO Box 665 Creswell, OR 97426 541-942-0420 CHAMBER OF COMMERCE Cottage Grove Area Chamber of Commerce 836 E. Main 541-942-2411 COMPUTER REPAIR PC Garage 711 E. 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Main St 541-649-1240 Farmers Insurance 330 Hwy 99, STE C 541-942-0165 State Farm Insurance - Matt Bjornn 1481 Gateway Blvd 541-942-2623 JEWELRY APPRAISAL The Jewelry Girl, LLC 2001 Franklin Blvd, Eugene 541-556-9598 Territorial Seed Company Store 20 Palmer Ave 541-942-0510 The Flower Basket & Gift Boutique 119 S. 6th St 541-942-0505 The UPS Store 1498 E Main St Ste 103 Cottage Grove, OR 97424 541-767-0888 VISION CARE LANDSCAPE MAINTENANCE Pacific Clear Vision 257 N. 8th St 541.942.5000 Prasada Landscapes LLC P.O. Box 341 Cottage Grove 541-731-8528 NON PROFIT Cottage Grove Genealogical Society PO Box 388 Cottage Grove, OR 97424 541-942-9570 Rotary Club of Cottage Grove Oregon P.O. Box 424 Cottage Grove, Oregon 97424 541-554-6946
