Diane Alden
Monday, Dec. 23, 2002

I then asked Dad which was his best Christmas ever and his face went blank. Sipping his coffee, he thought for a moment and then said, "All of them."

At 84, that probably says it for a man who spent the majority of his life from childhood to old age being good and doing good. For most of his life Dad has been the guy they ask when they need a job done right. With more energy than men half his age, he still is the perfect volunteer and organizer for all kinds of charitable causes and civic functions.

Not that I am biased, but Dad has to be one of the greatest husbands, fathers and grandfathers of all time. In addition to surviving two near-death experiences as a child, he made it through the Great Depression helping his struggling parents and five brothers and sisters. To do that he cleaned chicken coops and built up a paper route that included 133 people. Then he handed the money over to his folks.

A world war claimed a hunk of his time; so did a couple of years working in the Oliver Mining Company as a timekeeper and then as an auditor. That was followed by pursuit of a business degree from the University of Minnesota on the GI Bill. Dad earned that degree with two kids, a wife and a mother-in-law in tow, working two jobs to pay the bills.

Then came 30 years as an executive in corporate America for the same company, an unusual accomplishment even for that era. By then there were four of us and Dad somehow managed to give us horseback riding lessons and Catholic schools, punctuated by camping, fishing and hunting trips.

Critics would claim he was likely one of those "men in the gray flannel suits" so denigrated and pilloried by social theorists in the '50s. But for us kids, he was the man who allowed us our dreams and always told us we could do and be whatever we wanted to be. As teenagers, my brother and I wanted to learn how to fly airplanes. Dad didn't say no. He just made sure we understood we had to earn the money ourselves to pay for them.

Dad always told us that if we lived by the Golden Rule and allowed God a little room in our lives, everything would work out for the good. I don't recall, except one time, that he ever thought any of my plans for life were dumb or foolish. The one time he did mention that perhaps one of my notions would lead to disaster, he was correct.

Both he and Mom gave us the gift of hope and perseverance. They gave us the gift of grounding us in our religious faith. That made it easier to endure the problems that came along in life. It also made it simpler when every so often the company and Dad's job would require us to be uprooted.

Mostly Dad spared us that ordeal. So he spent a lot of time on the road doing his job helping to build postwar America. He still keeps track of and feels proprietary concern for the company he retired from over 20 years ago.

There was never a question in his mind, or in my mother's for that matter, that their children would not attend college, and most of them did. There was never any doubt that we would make our mark. The worst thing for us kids would have been to make them ashamed or embarrassed. As far as I know, none of us ever did bring them shame, but I suspect we embarrassed them a time or three. But then, moms and dads usually keep things like that to themselves.

Grown children don't make it any easier on parents. The tragedies and joys in their lives impact mom and dad as well. My folks helped some of us survive death and divorce, disappointment and triumph, both with a perspective that we take it all in stride.

For Dad the death of my dear Mom in 1988 could have been the end of his life. But instead it offered new challenges and a new life. That new life came in the form of Connie. Connie was the tomboy and dad's childhood playmate, who never expected that rowdy Alden boy would come looking for her 50 years after they last saw each other. There were parallels in their lives, including the fact that both earned the same degree from the same school at the same time and never bumped into each other until years later.

I asked Connie the question I had asked Dad: "What is your best Christmas ever?" She thought for a while and said, "Every Christmas since your dad and I got together."

Here I was waiting to hear profound stories that would have made a good show for TV's "Touched by an Angel." Instead I get these unadorned answers and no stories. But the fact is these two people are the story. They are the story of hope, survival, goodness and triumph over adversity.

Neither of them whined about any of the suffering or the hardships they endured, and believe me, there was plenty of that. They were simply happy that in the final years of their lives they had found each other. They were grateful for it all, the good and the bad. I look at them and understand they are the story of America and the kind of people that America breeds.

The night I asked the folks the "best Christmas" question, I watched a movie on AMC called "An American Romance." I mentioned it to Dad at dinner the next day because part of it had been filmed at the Hullrust open pit on the Mesabi Iron Range, where Dad worked as a young man.

He looked mildly surprised, then asked if I remembered seeing a tall, skinny guy with black hair climbing a cable up a steam shovel to get from one stope or level in the pit to another. He beamed and told me: "That was me. I was a timekeeper and walked 7 to 10 miles a day to take down everyone's work time. The movie people thought climbing that cable made a great scene, so they filmed it and kept it in the movie." He added quietly, "For one short minute I was a movie star."

I wish a blessed Christmas to my "movie star" dad, to my late mother, Jean, who was an American romance story all to herself, to my sweet, tough stepmom, Connie, my three grown kids and Nate in particular, to my relatives and friends.

A special Noel to my cohorts and fellow writers at NewsMax. That goes especially to the people who do the grunt work of editing and promoting and organizing like Rita, Chuck and Sandy. Thanks to Joan, Betty, Val and Tom, who remind me every so often that what I say in my columns and on radio matters.

Merry Christmas to the thousands of men and women who read my columns and write the best e-mails ever; to the Protestant missionaries in India and Turkey who survive the long essays and think well enough of them to read them to their students; thanks for your prayers.

Blessed Christmas to Father P. in San Diego, Father Paul and Father Larry in Milwaukee, Father Clem and Sister Caroline and countless Protestant pastors who add their prayers and encouragement.

In addition, a safe, hopeful, peaceful Christmas to the many men and women in the military who write and wish me well.

Finally, to the fathers and men like my dad, who walk the walk as well as talk the talk: You are better than movie stars, you are everyday heroes. I wish you and yours a blessed, safe and very Merry Christmas.

As I look over all the Christmases lived over the years, I know Dad is right. The best Christmas is "all of them."

To comment, write alden@newsmax.com or visit my Web site at www.aldenchronicles.com.