On my sixth Christmas, in 1979, one of the gifts waiting under the tree for me was a book by Paul Theroux, titled A Christmas Card. It’s not a very long book – only 84 pages. I read it for the first time that afternoon; the second time on boxing day. I read it at least a dozen times that first year, and countless times since. Much of my sense of what home and family are were shaped by these 84 pages. So too, were my sense of magic and wonder fed by its magic and mysteries.
No one else ever seems to know this book, so for the last fifteen years, I have made it a tradition to read A Christmas Card to a new set of friends each Christmas. This year, I thought I’d share it with friends on the internet.
Merry Christmas everyone, and thank you Dad, for this gift of magic you granted me all those years ago. I miss you.
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