From: darkshot@rock.concert.net (Michael B Garrett -- Chudys)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: A Christmas Story
Date: 25 Dec 92 07:53:20 GMT
Organization: You should see my desk.

Darkshot blows in with a strong arctic wind behind him. 15 degrees F in
Creedmoor, and it's obviously been a difficult night for him.
His family colors are soiled- red mud streaks the white cloak with the
crimson lining; his boots show signs of long travel in places where
there are no roads, but his smile is infectious.

"Give me a beer, Mike- I'd like to share something."

"My sister and I were a little late in catching onto the "no santa"
thing- we believed in Santa 'til we were 12, whereas most kids figure it
out by 8 or 9. The reason why we were so gullible has to do with my father,
Mauford B. Garrett, my only White Christmas, and engineering.

Darkshot takes a glass from Mike, and his eyes look inward; he speaks in
a deep rumble that doesn't carry all that well:

 "I guess we were 8 and 11, my sister being 3 years older, when we finally
got to see a white Christmas. It started snowing about 3 pm Christmas Eve,
and it came down in those big, fat, close-the-schools-forever kind of flakes
all the way up 'til bedtime- about 9:30 for us. There was already about
4 inches on the ground in the yard when we went to bed.

 "The snow stopped soon after; total accumulation was less than 5 inches.

 "When we woke up Christmas morning, Santa had of course visited, but
what was strange.......sleigh tracks. Starting at the driveway, shallow-
progressively deeper 'til they came alongside the front porch (we had no
chimney)- footprints all over the porch, a bunch of "tiny hoof" marks in
a very localized area between the sleigh-runner marks in front of the
porch. The sleigh tracks continued off up through the yard, and led out to the
<stand of pines, where the gradually became more and more shallow until they
vanished.

 "All in all, and aerospace engineers that have seen the picture my sister
took with her Polaroid "Swinger" agree- it looks like someone landed a 
sleigh and took off again- mode of vector-application unknown. Possibly
reindeer. Hard to say.

The snow in the yard was pristine, except for the sleigh tracks. Although
I now work with people who worked with my father, and say that I'm a better
engineer than he ever was- I have no idea how the hell he did it. Nor
do they. It is a Mystery- a last Gift from my father, my Dad- for he died
soon after this miracle. And never told his only son How He Did It.

Darkshot calls for his father's favorite drink: Ancient Ancient Age, with
a Pepsi chaser. He stands at the line.

 "A toast: To engineering- a talent so formidable that it can make you 
believe in magic- even when you know how it works. And to my Dad- a master
magician. The world is poorer without you, and your talents. If there is
an afterlife, you're gonna have to explain that one to me. Cheers!

 Darkshot drains the shot, blinks, and fires the glass into the hearth.
He remembers the Pepsi, swigs deeply from it, and seems to feel better-
but befuddled. Dropping two US Trade Units on the bar, he bows deeply
to all assembled, brushes at the mud on his cloak, grins, and vanishes.

All that remains where he was standing is a fog of probabilities and
a drained shot glass.

A voice speaks clearly from a direction nobody can point to: "Merry Christmas!"
Newsgroups: alt.callahans