The Christmas Call
Noel Laflin
12-14-15
Each year our
elderly neighbors from two doors down the street would join us on Christmas
Day - but not until they had first spoken, or attempted to speak, to their nieces and nephews in East Germany. It was a
hit or miss scenario every year as the few lines into communist-held land were
jam packed with folks from across the globe, as well as Germans living but a
kilometer away in the West, desperately trying to get through to family trapped
in Eastern provinces - especially on Christmas Day.
Whether
the Christmas call was successful or not, there were always tears afterwards; tears of joy or sadness, tears of loneliness or guilt, tears of missing family
so very far away.
And although
I was just a kid, I understood those tears streaming across the cheeks of these
two beloved neighbors when they did eventually shuffle down the street and join us for
festivities in our home. If they arrived
early in the day, we knew the call had been successful. If they put in a later appearance - well, it
was best not to ask, but to merely make sure that there was plenty of wine and schnapps
on hand - and see to it that their glasses were never empty.
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