The Christmas Letters by Bret Nicholaus Page A

his finger. He looked inside, obviously perplexed, and pulled out a letter—a hand-cut, red velvet letter—the letter A.
    “ I DON'T GET IT ,” Dad said very matter-of-factly.
    Without providing an answer, Grandpa told my sister, seated next to my dad, to open her envelope. She looked around at all of us and pulled out a red velvet letter M. She and my dad both looked at each other now, but neither knew what to say.
    Grandpa motioned to each and every family member sitting at the table. When it was Grandma's turn, she pulled out the letter H; soon the letters R, I, and two S's appeared.
    “ Y OU'RE NEXT ,” G RANDPA said as he nodded toward my wife. She opened her envelope and pulled out the letter C.
    I was the last one to go. I eagerly opened my envelope to reveal the letter T.
    Grandpa sat at the table smiling and looking around at us as if we should have understood what was going on. Unfortunately, we didn't, and finally my sister spoke what was on all of our minds.
    “ G RANDPA, THE LETTERS ARE BEAUTIFUL , but what are they for?”
    At this, his facial expression and voice inflection changed. He was glad that she had asked; in truth, he really hadn't expected any of us to know what this was all about. Leaning slightly forward in his chair, he spoke softly but with authority.
    “ E ACH ONE OF YOU IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT PIECE of Christmas to me, and I want you to always remember that. The letters that you have spell out the word C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S. Take any one of the letters away, and C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S, for me, would not be complete.”
    I T WAS AS IF SOMEONE HAD TURNED THE LIGHTS on in our heads. We suddenly understood: Each of us was an integral part of Christmas to Grandpa, and he wanted us to have these letters so we would always remember that after he was gone. He had even punched holes in the top of each letter so they could be hung as ornaments on a Christmas tree. But we soon came to find out that there was much more to these letters than any of us knew.
    P ROCEEDING IN THE ORDER OF THE LETTERS as they spelled out C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S, Grandpa spoke to each person, beginning with my wife.
    “Susan, I gave you the letter C. Do you have any idea why?”
    After a brief hesitation, she reluctantly admitted that she didn't.
    “The letter C stands for Cookies—
your
cookies. Every year, just like this one, you bake a batch of my favorite anise cookies and put them out on Christmas Eve. We both know that nobody else in this family likes them or eats them except for me, yet you bake them anyhow. The fact that you make those cookies just for me—year after year—means more to me than you'll ever know.”
    A gentle smile crept across my wife's face. What she deemed as a very simple task was obviously incredibly meaningful to Grandpa. He turned next to my grandma.
    “ S WEETHEART ,” HE SAID WITH A TWINKLE in his eye, “the H is for Horse-drawn sleigh. As you well remember, it was sixty-five years ago tonight that you first told me that you loved me, while we were out for a sleigh ride together on your father's farm. That was the first of sixty-five unforgettable Christmases with you, and every year at this time, my mind takes me back to that horse-drawn sleigh ride on that crisp, starry night.”
    Grandma leaned over, clasped his hand tightly, and gave him a kiss. She, too, cherished the memory of that night so many, many years ago.
    “ S PEAKING OF DAYS GONE BY , the R stands for reminiscing—specifically, your willingness to let me do it,” Grandpa said as he looked at his son-in-law holding that very letter. “From the first day I met you, you've always expressed an interest in my stories, especially about what things were like when I was growing up and discovering life.
    Very few people I know will listen to those stories, and fewer still actually inquire about them. But you, you've always asked…and it never means more to me than at Christmas, when so many wonderful memories drift back from the past.