Alan Webber: A trucker’s night before Christmas

December 25, 2018

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the land, not a creature was stirring ’cept the semis all manned, with truckers, weeks on the road, delivering freight, now trying to get back home, afore it’s too late.

The children were nestled, all snug in their beds, with visions of daddy’s return dawdling in their heads. And mamma in her nightgown, such a hectic week, had just settled down herself, lonesome and meek.

She’s uneasy for her trucker to return safe and sound, she knows he’ll be hurrying to come back ’round. To be home with family by this Christmas morn, to celebrate the momentous day our Savior was born.

The moon had lain on the breast of the new fallen snow, she wanted him to stay but understood he must go. Praying all day; to their home he would again appear, surely he’s getting close, no doubt he had to be near.

She thought of his eyes; oh, how they would twinkle! And the withered forehead, now covered in wrinkle. The silvery hair on his head, long may it grow, and the stubble of his chin is now white as the snow.

He’s getting heavy and plump, a right jolly old elf, smiling and thinking of his belly, in spite of herself. A wink of his eye though is all that is required, to be home safely this wintry night is what she desired.

He’s sometimes not shaved and prone to a foul mood. Tarnished he may be; and sometimes a little rude. But you see, he’s been cursed on the road; delayed at a dock, and it’s his travels making sure Christmas gifts are in stock.

While folks arrange Christmas to enjoy this magic season, truckers deliver goods all for good reason. Shelves are now filled; a livelihood; a way to support family, taking him farther from home than he sometimes wants to be.

Now he’s another trucker on the holiest of flights, driving highways to home as nature puts up a fight. But mamma knows he’ll hurry, following his headlights; oh, Lord please bring him home safely tonight.

When, what to her wondering eyes should appear, a big ’ol 18-wheel semi becoming oh so clear. Yes, it’s a blue Pete, and pulling a white trailer-van, she knew in a moment it was going to be her man.

More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called her by name. To the top of the porch! And in through the door, he dashed in the house and slid ’cross the floor.

He sprung to her side, and grabbed her in a hug. She giggled with glee, “Welcome home, you big lug.” And they sat by the fireplace enjoying the warm light, smiling warmly, she whispered:

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

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