My daughter Ella is something like the 7th generation of Ellas in our family. Samuel Coleman was an officer in the Revolution. A daughter Samuella was named after him, and in subsequent generations it was shortened to just plain “Ella.” The Ellas I had known, an aunt and my grandmother were extraordinary people, so it was a no brainer to name my first daughter Ella. My Ella is a sweet and intensely loyal person. However, she wasn’t always this way. As a child, she always had an agenda. She wanted things, and she would wear me out until she got what she wanted. Stubborn as a mule and relentless in her advocacy, as soon as she got what she wanted, she would start campaigning for the next material possession she had to have.
Naturally, when Christmas came around, I would get a list of “wants” as long as my arm. Many of which were ridiculously impractical. Late in September when Ella was 8, her cat Thomasina disappeared twelve weeks before Christmas. Ella was distraught. She and I hung “missing cat” posters all over the neighborhood. We knocked on dozens of doors. Poof, Thomasina had vanished into thin air. She was gone, and I knew she wasn’t coming back.
That year, I didn’t get a Christmas list from Ella. She said she didn’t want any presents; all she wanted was for Thomasina to come back. Dads love their little girls and will do anything for them, but how does one make a dead cat come back to life? It hurt me every time she mentioned that all she wanted for Christmas was Thomasina’s return. I was emasculated because “I couldn’t fix it.”
Ella inherited my dad’s love of Christmas. She’s a Christmas freak, but she wasn’t this Christmas. I always put the children to bed. We said prayers, sang hymns, told stories. Christmas Eve night while reciting her prayers, Ella once again asked for just one gift, Thomasina.
Christmas came, and as I recall Ella was very sweet, but a bit melancholy and reserved. She opened up gifts and politely thanked everyone, but she wasn’t bouncing off the walls with glee as was her nature. Well as you can imagine Thomasina did not come back. Later that night around 10 pm, we were all tired and getting ready to go upstairs. Ella was in her pajamas, sitting beside me on the couch. Suddenly, Ella said she heard a noise. I didn’t hear anything. She immediately screams “THOMASINA!” She ran to the door. I hated to see her get her hopes up. I knew that she was just an 8-year-old who wanted to believe with all her being. I had a pang in my heart, knowing that in a split-second Thomasina would not be there. Ella would be hurt and dejected.
But Thomasina was there.
