I’m planning a trip to my favorite greenhouse for Christmas plants. Time has been good to me and for that I am very grateful. The chilly air brings me back to another holiday plant trip and the miracle that I was fortunate enough to experience.

My dad was a wonderful burly guy who loved his family. Every winter evening after work, he would sit in his recliner and read the newspaper. That last puff of cigar smoke would always linger in the air until morning. It was late November, the time of year he loved most, when he passed away.

Snow had come early that first year without him. I wanted to do something special for my children. I had hoped that some fresh plants from the greenhouse would bring a little bit of cheer to my father’s grieving family.

There was a chill in the air that day. I pulled the hood up on my coat and tied it tightly around my neck. Time was fading and I was in a hurry to make the trip before school ended.

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Hard lessons

At 19, my teenaged son has achieved numerical adulthood, with the ability to go to war, get tattooed and marry, if not quaff a beer. Before he left college in the middle of his first year at SUNY Purchase, his grades were confidential—even to us, who had carefully raised him and footed the bill—because he was 18, the age of adulthood.

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