Kent Sipes recalls his fondest Christmas memory as a child was of his father, who was a pastor, reading the story of Jesus' birth from the Bible. He remembers how his father, now gone for over 4 years, had a big booming voice that he impatiently waited to finish so he could open presents. As an adult, Sipes understands how little money his parents had but how hard they worked to make Christmas special. Flash forward 40 years and Sipes sees his father's weakened voice reading the same passage to his growing family, his voice breaking with emotion. While his father is no longer physically present, Sipes finds he carries parts of his father in his own face, voice and behaviors.

1. Gone... But Not Forgotten
by Kent Sipes
Hi - SCI newsletter readers haven't heard from me in a while... my wife and I
were discussing our favorite Christmas experiences from childhood on, and my
most meaningful memory is of my Papa (gone more than 4 years now) reading
the story of Jesus' birth from Luke, Chapter 2. My Dad was a big man with a big,
booming voice, and I told her about how impatient I was as a kid for him to finish
the chapter, and his prayer, so I could get to my presents.
Dad was the Pastor of a small church in a small town in Southern Illinois, and
with 4 kids, the budget for Christmas presents was pretty small. I could count on
one toy, a few little items in my stocking, and the rest of my packages were
bound to be socks & underwear. I remember wondering just how dense Santa
was - I never asked for more socks! My letters were very specific.
As I got older, I understood how tight the budget for Christmas gifts was on my
Dad's tiny salary, and how hard my parents worked to make it a special time for
us all. How she must have shaken her head at me circling expensive toys in the
Sears Wish Book... when I'd ask her if I might get the Hot Wheels Super Charger
set for Christmas, she'd just say, "Well, we'll see!".
Flash forward to 40 years after those "Santa" years, and I remember Dad's
weakening voice reading the same passage, his voice breaking as he looked out
at first a son-in-law, then his first granddaughter, then daughters-in-law, more
grandkids, then a great-granddaughter. He was an emotional man, able to
thunder in the pulpit and pray with force, but just as likely to cry with those to
whom he ministered.

2. As he neared the end of his life, he realized he wasn't likely to have many more
Christmases left, and his eyes would fill with tears as he marveled at the family
he'd been given. His own birth family was very poor, unhappy, and small. His
father was a half-blind coal miner (there were no Worker's Compensation
benefits in those days). Yet he & Mama somehow founded a family that
produced generations of happy, stable, successful people.
The first Christmas after we lost Papa, we went around the room, each person
taking a turn to tell his/her favorite memories of Christmas with him. There were
lots of tears, but lots of laughter, too. When my turn came, I said that, while I
missed Dad, I did see his face in the mirror every morning. I look just like him,
except that he couldn't grow a moustache (his single attempt, in his 40s, was
truly sad).
I sound like him, too, though I don't preach (I'm a trainer). And that's my point in
writing this article - not just to remember my Papa, but to commemorate what
characteristics of my parents I carry to the future. While I'm one of those who
firmly believes in a life after this one, I'm struck by the more immediate echoes of
my Papa in myself. I hear him when I grumble about something I hear on the
news, when I yell at the TV after a stupid play by my favorite NFL team ("You
have Beast Mode on your team and you don't trust him to gain 3 yards to win the
Super Bowl?!?).
So, while our parents won't always be physically present in our lives, we carry
significant parts of them in our faces, voices, and behaviors. I have the chance to
touch lives like he did, to encourage others in the same way, and to help folks
see their inherent importance. I'll keep laughing at the same things in myself that
I used to laugh at in Dad. And I'll cry when I read aloud the Christmas story from
Luke 2 while sitting in his recliner on Christmas morning.