Books for Christmas

By A.J. Llewellyn

Some years ago I heard an awful story about a spurned gift that still resonates in my mind. So much so that the first thing I do when I receive a book is to open it and check there's nothing inside.

It's a good habit to fall into because some people, especially older folk, like to tuck a little something extra into these books. The weirder the tome, the more likely it is to contain a hidden gem.

This year, my cousin in Australia sent me a biography of some bloke I've never heard of...a maverick priest called Chris Riley.

Now, I'm an avid reader and I like reading on a variety of topics but this book just didn't...call out to me. I looked at it, turned it over, read the back and thought, I am ashamed to say, I can wait to read this one. I tore into the rest of the things she sent me and thought no more about the book until I called her yesterday (which was Christmas Day in Australia) to wish her a wonderful day.

"What did you think of the photo?" she asked.

What photo?

I hemmed and hawed until she said the photo she'd tucked inside the book. I raced to open it and was thoroughly ashamed I hadn't cracked it open until our phone call. Inside was a crisp one hundred dollar bill (thank you, Jesus!) and a photo taken 50 years ago at Bondi Beach of her father and mine, long before they got married and had families.

They were so handsome and excited, hope shining in these Greek immigrants' eyes for the future. My uncle is now gone after a long struggle with Alzheimer's, a disease that now has my father in its steely grip.

This photo, one I've never seen before is now my most treasured possession. I will never, ever not open another book I'm sent for Christmas or any other day. And I will hold onto the hope I see in my father's eyes. I will make a point of reading Father Riley's story, too. There has to be a damned good reason my cousin sent it.

Whoever and wherever you are today and every day over this holiday season, hug and love those you hold dear. Our time is short, but love, like books for Christmas, lives forever.

Aloha oe,

A.J.