The Shining Christmas Day

Our family gathered together on Christmas Day 2004 near Wichita, Kansas. After Christmas brunch, a snowball fight commenced, with a few stray balls flying from the front door through the living room and smacking the fridge at the kitchen's far end. That cold air soon hit our whole clan with a particular urgent need. Like everyone, our youngest daughter felt relief with her turn in the bathroom. Minutes passed. We respected her privacy. After all, ladies of any age past about ten often need a extra time refreshing in the powder room for redoing hair and such.

Do You Hear What I Hear

As we waited at the kitchen table discussing which card or board game we'd play first, we heard a small sound from behind. My husband investigated, as the noise grew to a recognizable plea for help.

"Hello, is anybody there?!"

"Hey, Sweetheart, are you okay in there?"

"Dad, The door knob's stuck! Where have you been?"

"Sorry. I'm here now."

"Geez, get me out!"

The engineer in him gained control of the situation. "Ok. Let's just figure this out, shall we?"

"Just get me out now!"

The knob stuck tight. He twisted. He turned. He told her to stand back and he took a running slam into the door, resulting in a bruised shoulder and a still solidly closed door. He'd disappear to the shed for yet another tool, and as each try to loosen the knob failed, the urgency and frustration to get her out grew.

Nearly an hour passed, and I mentally weighed the calls we should have made forty-five minutes ago, such like the lock smith and 911 emergency. When I said it out loud, the group response was, "But it's Christmas," even though they hung at the door, taking turns calling out, "How are you doing in there?"

Deck The Halls

Once again, her dad disappeared to her grandfather's shed. As he returned with a small axe in his hands, my motherly instincts took over, "You're not using that! I'm calling the fire department!"

Our trapped daughter called back through the door; "Geez. I'm fine, Mom. Just sitting in the tub trimming my toe nails."

Her dad shrugged. "Nothing else left to try." Then he turned toward the bathroom door; "Listen to me. Close the shower door, cover yourself with a big bath towel, and duck as low as you can."

Visions of wood, metal, and glass shards flying about my baby girl, danced in my head. His actions reminded me of the movie scene with Jack Nicholas from the 1970s Stephen King novel, The Shining.

The old glass knob hit the bathroom floor as the outside end fell out too. "Here's Daddy!" he said, dropping the axe and rushing into the bathroom. He scooped her out of the tub and carried her out with a heroic grin.

Her freedom giggles were contagious. The whole family belly laughed in relief, and at the memory of her sitting in the tub, performing a pedicure, while we hovered in worry outside the door. She handled the shining Christmas Day much better than her mother or anyone else.