A Forklift Christmas

My office had holiday themed essay writing contest as a part of our annual celebration. My entry won, which came as a bit of a releif, since I work with a bunch of scientists and engineers who don't have reputations for being the best writers. The story (which is all true, since that was one of the rules for the contest) is kind of fun. So I've decided to share it with the rest of the world. So here is my winning essay, oh and happy holidays too.

A Fork Lift Christmas by Kate Scott

“Can I have a dump truck?”

I don’t even want to count the number of times I’ve been asked that question. The first time Warren said those six simple words, I actually responded with, “Why do you want one?” Now I know better than to ask that and simply say “NO!”

But way back, early in our marriage, I tried to actively communicate with my husband. I wanted to understand why a grown man living in suburbia would want a dump truck. I’m still not sure of the answer, but I get forwarded Craigslist ads for low cost dump trucks guaranteed to not run on a regular basis.

Back in December of 2008, when Warren smiled sweetly and asked, “Can I have a forklift?” it caught me off guard. He wasn’t asking for a dump truck. It was a Christmas miracle.

In what had to have been a state of shock. I actually said, “Yes.” So as an early Christmas present, my adorable yet certifiable husband brought home a shiny used forklift.

A few days after adding heavy machinery to our collection of personal vehicles, it started to snow. I was downtown happily completing my project work before the holidays when the city was blanketed white. I gathered up work I could do from home and hopped on the train, hoping to avoid any weather related near-misses.

By the time I made it home, my quiet suburban street was covered in several inches of snow. Warren wasn’t in the house. He was in the back yard rolling a four-foot ball of snow. Three other massive snowballs were tucked into various corners of the yard.

I knit my brow in concern. “What are you doing?”

“I’m building a snowman of course.” Snowflakes glistened on the ends of Warren’s eyelashes. “Come help me push this snowball into place.”

It took both of us pushing with all our strength to move the massive mound of snow across the yard. “This thing weighs a ton. How do you expect us to lift it?”

“Why do you think I just bought a forklift?”

I ran into the house to retrieve my personal safety equipment, and Warren hopped into the driver’s seat of the forklift. He carefully lifted each ball of snow and drove it across the backyard. As Frosty grew taller, I packed the balls together with large handfuls of still falling snow.

Finally the last ball of snow was positioned into place. We trimmed six foot long branches from a nearby tree for arms and gave Frosty a carrot nose. Filled with holiday magic, we stepped back to look at our fifteen-foot tall snowman.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. Except you know I would never really say anything that cheesy, but we can pretend I said something like that.

“I know,” Warren looked up into Frosty’s pinecone eyes. “Just think of what we could build if we had a dump truck.”

Not wanting to think about it, I headed back to the house to make some hot chocolate and defrost my fingers.

Warren followed me inside. “If I can’t have a dump truck, how about a backhoe?”

“Just be happy with your forklift.”

He smiled and dropped a marshmallow into the cup of hot chocolate I handed him. “Oh don’t worry about that. Thanks to my new forklift, this has been the best Christmas ever.”