Each week we post an article or paper submitted by a member or "silent participant" of Guyana Caribbean Network. The featured article runs from Monday to Sunday each week. To submit an article for feature of the week contact us at admin@guyanacaribbeannetwork.com This week's feature is brought to you by "Interrupt".

Christmas lessons. by "Interrupt"

You know, I got the best Christmas gift ever on Christmas Eve night 1984. My father and I were picking up the pine needles that were scattered at the base of the Christmas tree. The Salsoul Orchestra Christmas album was playing on the turntable and it filled the house with happy Christmas disco music. Stick a pin...I'm going to order that CD from Amazon.com before I forget.

My mother was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the pepperpot, much to my father's chagrin, as he was the self ordained pepperpot master of our home. On the same stove, a huge pot of sorrel was bubbling away adding to the array of aromas that heightened the anticipation of the Christmas day feast to come.

I was already beside myself guessing what was in the boxes that were wrapped neatly in old engineering draft sheets. Yes, even then my father was an environmentalist who believed in recycling Popular Mechanics magazines, old exam papers and huge draft sheets into wrapping paper and engaging Christmas tree ornaments.

That year I believe I had wished for a toy aeroplane, more architecturally correct building blocks and a new set of model cars; I really wanted the Rover P6 like Mr. Ferdinand drove. When the LP came to a scratchy end, my father had deftly removed the record and replaced it with another. He had ever so gently positioned the needle at the edge of the record and in within a moment's time, the house had been filled with the syrupy sweet sounds of Nat King Cole's Christmas Song.

My father who absolutely loved Nat King Cole and Ella Fitzgerald, had remarked as he had always done about the best voice in the world. He had crooned along and beckoned me for a dance and I had I jumped happily unto his feet and protested that I wanted to lead. He had responded that if I wanted to lead him then he would have to stand on my feet.

It was then my lifelong gift was unwrapped between small circles and twirls around our living room. It went something like this: "So you want to lead, eh?" he shouted over the music. "It's a good place to get to you know, but it's always a hard place to stay. That's because leadership isn't a stationary position. It's a constant balance between confidence and questions. It's like running up and down them steps with me on your feet; you always have to do the nearly impossible."

With that, he had commenced the singing again. I had spun around him doing my little ballet pirouettes but wondering where this conversation was leading. All I had asked for was to be the one calling the "shots". "I like that you want to be a leader though; Just like your mother." he continued. "She leads me a dance all the time." he had laughed.

"Men like lady leaders. You know why? Because they are not needy. Men don't like needy women, because men don't like to mind women; Even though they do it, they don't like it. Deep down we all want women who know what they want and how to get it. We like to be told. We don't like to guess and we don't necessarily like when they play the damsel in distress all the time."

My mother was now looking on from her vantage point on the sofa. "What's that you're saying to my little duckie? She said with a chuckle in her thick English accent. "I heard that speech a long time ago. I suppose you don't have any new material! Thank God you were not meant to be a spokesman. It would 'ave been bricks and ole bottles for you ole chap," she had giggled.

"Well for your information, I only tell that to my leading ladies." My father had shot back with a wink. That conversation spoken so matter-of-factly over the familiar crackle of vinyl and the scents of a Guyanese kitchen at Christmas has stayed with me all this time. Over the years I've come to see how important that lesson had been. It has outlasted the over ambitious mansion I built with the building blocks I had unwrapped that Christmas morning. Even though my Rover P6 model car may be worth a small fortune some day, that lesson in life will always be priceless.

So this season, along with the lesson of what Christmas/ Hanukkah means to us, along with the smells of black cake, ham and pepperpot and besides the new Wii, regulation size basketball hoop set and that Trek 3700 (that I feel in my bones is a passing fad) I will pass on my father's message to my little girl on Christmas eve.

I just bought the Salsoul CD so now I'm off to find a Nat King Cole Christmas CD so that I could get it just right. Only this time, no 5'3"-110-pound-karate- chopping-nine-year-old girl will be hitching a ride on my puppies.

Merry Christmas and Season's greetings to my fellow GCNers and family.

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