The List

"Very casual. We'll find everything we need to make the sweater at Walmart."

"Okay, see you tomorrow at 10."

With that, we both got up and walked to the front door of the restaurant. As I was about to leave, I turned to say one last thing. "For the record, I've been checking you out too."

The next day, at exactly 10 a.m., Julie was waiting outside my apartment in a black VW Beetle that looked like it might be tricked out a little. You can't buy one in black from the dealer. By 10:15 we were at Walmart and by 11, Julie had filled our shopping cart with everything we needed to make an ugly Christmas sweater. In the men's department we found an inexpensive plain green sweater and in the craft department we found enough iron-on Christmas patches to cover the front and back of the sweater, so I wouldn't have to worry about my terrible sewing skills. I couldn't believe how easy that was. Once we were back on the road, I noticed that Julie was driving an unfamiliar route. We weren't going back to my place. Ten minutes later she pulled into a parking spot in a small development.

"Julie, where are we?"

"My place, of course. I already have the ironing board set up."

"You don't have to do this."

"Just shut up and bring the shopping bag."

I couldn't help myself. I leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. It seemed to catch her by surprise and it was about five seconds before she said anything.

"You'll tell me what this is all about when you can, won't you?"

"I promise."

Julie's serious face suddenly changed to a smile. "And if I didn't have to be at the restaurant in a few hours, I'd hold you to that other promise you just made with that kiss. Now let's finish that sweater and get you home before I have to be at work. I'll have just enough time to change while the patches on the sweater cool down."

"That kiss comes with a dinner if you're interested."

"Promises, promises."

When the sweater was done it looked great. By that, I mean it was really ugly. Now I just had to figure out when and where I was going to wear it.

Back at my apartment I thought of all of the things that had happened since I started working on the list. My life kept changing. Originally, I thought I wouldn't be able to complete all the tasks because some were too hard. Now I feel that even if I do complete all twelve tasks, I won't tell that to Mr. Dawkins. There is no way that I would document a date with Julie. That is just wrong on so many levels.

A month isn't really a lot of time to do all the things on the list. I'd put a dent in it but it was already December 16th and I still didn't have any idea how to give gifts to twenty kids without spending any money.

Next on my "To Do" list would be a visit to St. Joseph's Home for the Aged. St. Joseph's was the logical choice since it was only a short bus ride from my apartment. As I entered, I was greeted by a receptionist.

"Good morning. Who are you here to see today?"

"I don't actually know."

"Are you here to visit a relative?"

"No."

"A friend?"

"No."

"Then, are you a doctor? You're definitely not old enough to apply for admission here."

"No, not a doctor either."

"Then how can I help you? I can't think of any other choices."

"Do you have any residents here who don't get visitors?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Too many families just drop off their elderly relatives and forget about them."

"I want to visit one of them."

"I'm not sure if that's possible."

Frustration was starting to make my old personality reappear but I tried to stay calm.

"Listen, all you have to do is to point me in the direction of someone that you think would benefit from a visit."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, let me talk to a supervisor."

"Okay, just wait here. Don't move. I'll be right back."

In two minutes, the receptionist came back with an older woman. A pin on the woman's suit identified her as Sandra Lewis, an administrator at St. Joseph's.

"How can I help you?"

"Ms. Lewis, as I told your receptionist, I want to pay a visit to anyone in your facility who doesn't usually get visitors."

"Why?"

"I have personal reasons. Listen, you know there's a problem with some people who don't get visitors. They get moody or depressed and it affects their health. I don't care if you pretend that I'm some long-lost person who hasn't seen his friend in many years or the Easter Bunny here to spread some joy, just make it happen. Hell, it's almost Christmas. Where is your Christmas spirit, you know, joy to the world and all that? Or is that just something you say but don't mean?"

I guess I finally got through to them because I was given a visitor's pass and directed to a man who was sitting in a chair and staring out the window. I was told his name was Archie and nobody had visited him in three years. I walked up to him.

"Mind if I join you?"

"It's a free country. Do I know you?"

"No, I'm just visiting my aunt. I had to walk out of the room for a while. The nurse is with her."

"At least she gets visitors. My son hasn't visited since he put me here."

"Does he live far away?"

"Nah, maybe five miles, tops."

"So, what's the problem?"

"When he was young, we always seemed to be arguing about something although now I can't even remember what we argued about. When my wife died about four years ago, he and his wife took me in. I think it was her idea. They said I shouldn't live alone. Anyway, after I moved in, we began arguing again and about three years ago my son decided to throw me in here to rot."

"Archie, do you have any good memories of you and your son?"

"A few, I guess."

"Care to share one?"

Archie rubbed his forehead for a few seconds.

"Well, there was this one time. My son was about four-and-a-half years old. I took him fishing for the first time. It was funny watching him try to put that wiggly worm on a hook, and I'll never forget when he caught his first fish. It was only about three or four inches long but to him it was like he caught a great white shark. We were both so proud. We threw it back, of course, since it was so small. I told him that we had to, the fish's momma would be worried if he didn't come home."

I made up a few stories of good times with my father to try to keep Archie's spirits up. It was about an hour later that Archie thanked me for the visit but said that he was a little tired now so I motioned for an aide to help him get back to his room. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two smiling women, the receptionist and her supervisor, so I walked over to them.

Ms. Lewis was the first to speak, "Well, Mr. Easter Bunny, you now have an open invitation to pick up a visitor's pass any time you're in the neighborhood."

"Thanks, I may just take you up on that offer. Oh, I did tell Archie a little lie. I said I was here to visit my aunt. Just a heads-up. I wouldn't want either of you to blow my cover." The receptionist gave me two thumbs up.

"And, one last thing. I can't tell you why, but could one of you write a letter for me on official stationery stating what happened today? I'll give you my name and address."

"That won't be a problem," Ms. Lewis replied.

With that settled, I waved goodbye as I left the building.

December 20th was the day that I decided to wear my ugly sweater. I just had to figure out how I would document wearing it for eight hours. Then I had an idea. Holiday hours for the mall on weekdays are 9 a.m. - 10 p.m. and there's a big clock on the second floor of the mall. All I had to do was to take selfies next to the clock all during the day. Simple.

Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time but do you know how boring it is to spend a day at the mall just standing around without buying anything? I don't recommend it. The reason I didn't buy anything is that I didn't want to lug a shopping bag around with me all day. Another problem I had was that there are no benches or seats at the mall. I guess the people who own the mall don't want you to stop shopping, even to rest your feet. Sometimes I sat on the floor in an out-of-the-way area, hoping that mall security didn't tell me to get up and leave. There was one big red seat at the mall but that was reserved for Santa Claus. Next to it was a sign. It said that Santa will visit the mall on weekends to take pictures with children and give out balloons with Merry Christmas written on them. It took a while for my brain to register how important that sign was, but when it did, I ran to the employment office at the mall. I told them that I wanted to volunteer for one day to be one of Santa's elves and give out balloons to the children. I emphasized the word "volunteer". It wouldn't cost them a dime. And that is how I came to be dressed in a green elf costume on a Saturday afternoon at the mall. Each parent was asked to use my phone to take a picture of me giving a balloon to their child. At the end of the day, I had twenty-seven photos.

Later that night I went back to the restaurant where Julie works. I wanted to see her again. When I entered the restaurant, I immediately spotted her behind the bar, walked over and took a seat.

"What'll you have, sailor."

"A light beer."

"Not a double scotch? So, I take it, your sweater issue has been resolved?"

"Yeah, but I have another problem now. I have to convince this woman I know to go to dinner with me. It seems I may have made some promises."

"Anyone I know?"

"You might. The problem is that she works nights at a restaurant."

"That could be a problem. I'll bet she isn't working on New Year's Day."

"Do you have any ideas about where she might like to go to dinner?"

"Any place but here."

"I still don't have a car but I'm working on it. When can you pick me up?"

"Is 6 p.m. okay?"

"Perfect. I'll make reservations for 6:30. How does Italian food sound?"

"Very romantic. What should I wear?"

"If I had my choice, it would be just high heels and pearls."

"You have to be very careful with your promises, sailor."

"I'll try to remember that."

With that, Julie put a light beer in front of me and walked down the bar to take care of another customer.

That left three more tasks to do to complete the list. I still had to find a job that I would love, start a new holiday tradition and mend the relationship with my father.

To complete the first of those tasks, I had to ask myself what kind of job I would actually enjoy. Every job until now had been just a paycheck. The only real fun that I'd ever had was during that paintball fight. Maybe that was the answer. I hopped a bus, went back to The Paintball Arena and asked if they were hiring. It turns out that they had an opening but it didn't pay much. The good news was that employees could use the equipment in their free time and there was a chance for promotion in six months. I was also told that the owner of the company had started the same way. That clinched it. I filled out the employment papers and envisioned that in five years I'd run a place like it. The only thing left to do was to take a picture of the employment papers for Mr. Dawkins.

Now it was time to tackle the one task that worried me the most. I had put it off as long as I could. Tomorrow is December 28th, my birthday, so it seemed fitting that the confrontation with my father would happen on that day.

On December 28th, I showed up at my father's address with thirty-two yellow roses. I knocked and held my breath as the door opened.

"What do you want?"

"We need to talk."

"No, we don't, and why would you bring me yellow roses?"

"They're not for you. Do you know what today is?"

"Yeah, it's your birthday, so what?"

"It's the day mom died."

At the sound of those words, my father's attitude changed. He opened the door wider and stepped aside to allow me to enter. After closing the door, he said, "All these years later I still think about that day."

"You've never talked about it. What happened?"

He could barely speak as he relived that horrible day. "Your mother woke me up that night. She said it was time to go to the hospital. I knew she was right because when I tossed off the covers, I saw that the sheets were wet. Her water had broken. I didn't know how much time we had before the baby arrived so I drove to the nearest hospital. It was a small hospital, not one I would have chosen if I thought we had more time. When I arrived at the hospital, I yelled for someone to help get your mother inside. An aide ran up to the car with a wheelchair and took her away. That was the last time I saw her alive."

My father started to cry. I had never seen him like this. He walked over to a chair and sat down. He didn't look at me. He just stared at the floor as he continued the story.

"One of the nurses told me to wait in a sitting area while they took care of your mom. Yeah, they took care of her all right. They killed her. Oh, they didn't say it that way of course. The doctor came to see me after the delivery. Even though it happened twenty-six years ago I can recite the conversation that we had, word for word, as if it happened today."

"Are you the husband of the woman who came here to give birth?"

"Yes"

"When she was wheeled into the delivery room, we treated it as a normal delivery but halfway through it there were complications. The cord was wrapped around the neck of the infant and your wife was having trouble breathing. At one point she stopped breathing entirely. I had to make a decision. I had time to save only one of them. It was a terrible choice to make, but I chose to save your son."

"My wife is dead?"

"I'm sorry."

I could see the sorrow on my father's face change to anger as he said that.

"That's it? My wife was dead and all he could say was that he was sorry?"

My father suddenly looked up at me and made a motion like he was going to strangle someone. "I grabbed the doctor by the throat. I would have killed him except an orderly ran over and dragged me away from him. I hated that doctor and I hate you. The two of you took her from me."

It's taken years but I finally understood my father's anger toward me. The memories of my childhood still hurt but I can't guarantee that I would have reacted any differently than my father. We talked for what seemed like hours. He wasn't the only one who was affected by that doctor's decision. Every day I carry the guilt of my mother's death. My mother was thirty-two years old when she died. That's why I brought thirty-two yellow roses to my father's house. I'd hoped that my father would finally tell me where she was buried. He did better than that. He drove me to her plot in the cemetery and together, we placed the yellow roses on her grave. The healing had begun. This was another private moment that I was not going to share with Mr. Dawkins but I did take a time-delay photo of my father and me next to the headstone.

Two days later, on December 30th, I met with Mr. Dawkins. With me were pictures, audio recordings, a video, and a document from the home for the aged. I was about to hand it all to him when I realized that none of it really mattered. It wasn't important for Mr. Dawkins to know what I had done. My Uncle Lucas was right, this was just between him and me. My uncle had done what he set out to do. He changed me from the bitter person that I was into the person that he saw me to be. I now had a girlfriend, a job that I couldn't wait to start, a new view of others and a better relationship with my father, so I told Mr. Dawkins to give whatever money my uncle had set aside for me to my uncle's widow and children.

Now, if you have been keeping track of the tasks on the list then you know there's one task left. I think that my uncle would be very happy to know what I chose for my new holiday tradition. Every December twelve candles will be lit, one for each of the tasks he gave me.