‘Twas the Eve before Christmas,
When all through our house
There were signs of the season,
Except for Max Frause.
His stocking was hung
By the fireplace with care,
But how would St. Nick know
He’s not here but there?
Our grown son has journeyed
To a place called Down Under,
Better known as Australia
A land where it’s summer;
And me in my polar fleece,
Wand’ring ’round his quiet room,
Wondering what it will be like
Without his cheery tune;
When up on the wall
Stood his beloved book collection,
I walked toward the shelves
For a closer inspection.
Away to his bed
I stretched out real fast,
Pored over the pages
And entered Christmas Past.
The colorful covers
Of the dozen or so books,
Made me flip through the volumes
For a much closer look,
When, what to my sentimental
eyes should appear,
But stories long gone,
tales told every year,
With me as the reader,
no small child in sight,
I knew in a moment
it would be a special night.
More rapid than ferries
Max’s books I did shuffle,
As I hooted, and hollered,
And called out their titles;
“ABC Is For Christmas! Teddy Bears’ Christmas!
Nutcracker! and The Christmas Secret!
Poky Little Puppy’s First Christmas! The Santa Claus Book!
“Max’s Christmas! and The Polar Express!
To the top of the pile!
To the top of the stack!
Now listen up! Listen up!
Hold those tears back!”
As the earth doth tremble
before the Big One does hit,
When things start a rattling,
will it never quit;
So up to the housetop
The librarians did zoom,
With a truckload of books,
And Master Max too.
And then in a nano-second,
I heard on the roof,
The plunking and dropping
of each little book.
As I sat up in bed,
and was rubbing my eyes,
Down the chimney Master Max
came with very wide eyes.
He was dressed like a beach guy,
from his cap to his flip-flops,
And his clothes were all wrinkled,
why on earth would he iron?
A backpack of dirty laundry
he slung over one shoulder,
And he looked like I remember him
Not a minute or two older.
His eyes — they still twinkle!
His eyebrows, still there!
His hair was slightly longer,
His Soul Patch worn with flair!
His familiar little mouth
was smiling like the surf,
And I wondered if he brushed and flossed,
Without my gentle urge.
The front of his T-shirt
it carried a message,
I think it said “Melbourne”
or maybe “G’day, Mate!”
He seemed slightly taller
and maybe even thinner,
I wonder if he’s ordering more
than Aussie beer for dinner?
He was confident and chatty,
A fine chap if you please,
And I cried when I saw him,
A true mother indeed,
A wink of his eye
and a nod of his head,
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread;
He didn’t say a thing,
But went straight to his work,
And stuffed all his laundry
In the washer like a clerk;
And laying a finger
Atop his sun-kissed nose
And giving a “See Ya, Ma!”
up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his Subaru,
to his librarians gave “Yo!”
And away they all flew
From the rain and cold.
But I heard him exclaim,
as he roared out of sight,
“Merry Christmas Mom and Dad.
I’m gonna be all right!”

Sue Frause can be reached by e-mail at skfrause@whidbey.com.