Uncle Ed wasn’t like other adults in my village. He thought time should be spent working on a farm or on the end of a tool handle. And Christmas Eve was a workday like any other for him.

I was ten years old that year, just reading Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, when he asked me whether I wanted to ride to Gadsden with him to see some used dump truck (自卸卡车). Any other time, I would have knocked the furniture over getting out to his truck. Country kids never miss a chance to go to cities. But this was the day before Christmas. I might miss the big feast if I went with him.

“You want to go or not?” he asked again. “I guess...” I finally agreed after weighing the pros and cons.

That afternoon, we saw many used dump trucks, none of which was satisfying. But, in a Christmas miracle, Uncle Ed gazed down at his watch, Timex, and said we had bigger fish to fry: celebrating Christmas like men!

First, we headed to the day-old bread shop and filled up the truck with fruitcakes and hotdogs. Next, with powdered sugar on our lips, we turned down Broad Street and idled through the shining downtown of the city on its most festive day. Then we turned south toward the Big Chief Drive-In, which had one of the finest hamburgers in northeast Alabama. We ate in the truck and enjoyed it all, listening to the radio. It was as good a Christmas as I would have for a very long time.

I should have told him this when he was alive, but things get awkward the longer you live. So, even though it’s too late now, I want to thank him for it, for letting me come along.

“And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well …” Some may hear the words of Dickens and think of fine literature. But I see Uncle Ed in the glow of an AM radio, smell French fries and Winstons, and hear the ticking of an old Timex, in the most beautiful way.

The storm hit, bringing three feet of snow down and cutting off our power. So, though it was around noon, actually still daylight, there was little we could do. We were put into darkness. No television, no heat, no light. No nothing. This was back in the days when people relied on radios only in such situations.

Grandpa Charlie gathered up his winter coat, scarf, and gloves, and disappeared into the snow. A few minutes later, he returned, with wood under his arms. Looking at my brother and me, he said, “Come on, boys. Time to build a fire.”

But the enthusiasm(热情) for the fire wasn’t enough to keep the attention of two young boys, and we were soon badgering Grandpa repeatedly as to what was next. “There’s no TV, Grandpa,” I complained, “what are we going to do?”

“Let’s go camping.” Grandpa said.

It took us only minutes to get our sleeping bags, pillows, and toy animals back. When we returned, Grandpa had rearranged the furniture, clearing an open space in front of the fire. In short order, we had a fine campground.

“Now then,” Grandpa began, unfolding(打开) a strange-looking game board, “who’s up for a little game of checkers(跳棋)?”

For the next hour or so, Grandpa coached us on the fine art of playing checkers. I became a fair player after losing four games in a row. Then, remarkably, I beat Grandpa. When I asked him if he had let me win, he just smiled and set the board up for the next game.

Checkers was soon followed up with the game Hangman. Afterward, Grandpa found his old guitar and sang us some campfire songs. My brother and I did not know the words exactly but we could sing along.

And then, something terrible happened. The power came back on. Mom and Dad gave a cheer. But my brother and I stood there and didn’t move. Grandpa looked at us, smiled, and then slowly, he walked across the room to the light switch and turned it off.