Just before Christmas in 1944, a letter arrived at our house in Philadelphia. The postmark was from Tuskegee, Alabama, so we all knew who it was from. We quickly gathered around my mother as she opened it at the kitchen table.
My Dear mother,
I did not get the leave I expected for Christmas. I will miss all of you. Please leave the Christmas tree up until I make it back. I hope to be with you guys by March.
Love from your son,
Clifton
I was 17 years old at that time. My heart sank. I felt a profound sadness that my favorite brother would not be home for Christmas. He was one of the Tuskegee Airmen and was responsible for maintaining the airplanes flying off to fight in the World War II. My mother, being the optimist, said, "Well, it looks like we'll get to have two Christmases this year!"
After Christmas, my sister and I worked together to make sure we could keep that Christmas tree looking as pretty as possible. This was no easy job. By mid-January, the tree branches drooped so low to the ground that they became a sliding board for the ornaments.
Each day, ornaments would come crashing to the ground and there were new pine needles all over the wooden floor. My sister and I had to took turns to keep sweeping them up. We repositioned the ornaments to the stronger branches on the tree, hoping they would stay on. Each time we freshened that tree up, my sister and I were full of thoughts about Clifton and how happy we would be to see him again. It made us feel that he was close by, even though he was hundreds of miles away.
On March 5, the doorbell rang. I ran to the door and gave Clifton a big hug. As he hugged mum, I could see he peek over her head at the Christmas tree.
"It's beautiful," he said. "Thank you."
Clifton opened his present and told us all sorts of stories about his work in Tuskegee. That night as we slept, we heard a crash in the living room. We all ran to see what had happened. The tree had toppled onto the sofa and there were needles and broken ornaments everywhere. We all had a good laugh.
