Christmas Eve
March 15th, 2010 by Donn McCleanA child looks at the clock on the wall. The big hand is pointing at 12, the little hand is pointing at four.
“Dad,” he says as he tugs at his father’s trouser-leg, “is it bedtime yet?”
“It isn’t, son,” says his father with a smile. “Not for a while yet.”
The child wanders outside. It’s cold and it’s dull, it’s getting dark, it must be bedtime soon. He remembers last year, when he waited for ages, when he went down to his friend’s house at three o’clock played there for at least three hours and they told him it was four o’clock when he came home. He looks up at the sky, no stars, no lights, no sleigh, no reindeer, just grey cloud. Some day.
He sits down on the step and watches as the cat makes his way over, always up for a rub. He can see his mother just inside the kitchen window, he can see the clock behind her. Big hand at the two, little hand just past the four. He has seen his dad move the hands on the clock before, you just take it off the wall and do something at the back, and then the time changes. He considers trying it, sneaking into the kitchen and moving the hands, but no, he wouldn’t be able to sneak in unnoticed, and he doesn’t know how to do it anyway. Only grown-ups can move time. How come it goes so quickly on your birthday but so slowly on Christmas Eve?
He thinks he is hungry, but he is too excited to know. His mother calls him inside. Too cold, she says, and what was he doing outside without his duffle coat? The slice of Christmas pudding tastes nice, a little hot, but quite nice. His little sister is there, she’s too small, she doesn’t understand, and she’ll probably still get presents anyway. It’s not very fair is it, he has to go through the waiting, the knowing how good it is, how good it can be.
Last year his dad allowed him go to bed at seven o’clock and he lay there for ages. He closed his eyes and tried hard to fall asleep. He couldn’t remember ever trying to fall asleep before. He pictured every player on the Irish football team, all 11, his first 11, he thought about what subs he would use, who should be in the squad, in what positions they could play. Could the keeper play outfield? Probably not. And still he was wide awake.
It wasn’t easy, he remembers. He knew that, once he could get to sleep, the next thing would be that he would be awake and that his presents would be there, right there at the bottom of his bed, if he had been good, which he had been, he thought, although you can never be certain. The difficulty was in getting to sleep, ending Christmas Eve, because the following day was Christmas Day, and days just didn’t get much better that Christmas Day.
What if Christmas Day could be four days long? Cheltenham minus one. How well will you sleep tonight?
* For more of Donn’s thoughts, visit www.donnmcclean.com.
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Tags: Cheltenham
Categories: Horse racing Irish Racing
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