Page 54 of King of the Crease

“I picked up on that.”

“They’re nice people. The husband put in Brody’s braces in seventh grade. He started doing this because he wanted to show that Christmas wasn’t the only holiday celebrated in December. He wanted his kids to be excited about Hanukkah because all they saw around them was Christmas.”

I admire the man’s spirit. We light a menorah every Hanukkah in the town square of Ardenia’s capital, but it doesn’t hold a candle (or eight) to this display.

“The daughter’s in my grade. She finds this so embarrassing,” Brody says.

“You’re probably wondering…” Hank points out my window. “Jelly donuts are an official dessert of Hanukkah. I forget why.”

“Because of the oil in fried donuts. It symbolizes the oil that lasted eight nights,” Brody says. Hank turns around and pats his son’s knee.

“I love having a son in quiz bowl.” He turns back in his seat and lets his hand rest against my leg. “Did your family ever do this? Drive around and look at different houses?”

“I can’t say we did.” Over-the-top decorating is something unique to America. Ardenians prefer simplicity. “Christmas caroling was the big thing where I grew up. Families and caroling groups would go around and sing for people, and there was a competition for the best singers. But it meant that you could drive down any street and listen to beautiful Christmas music being sung.”

For the first time, I feel a bit of homesickness for Ardenia. I miss the cacophony of singing, the lights and garland tastefully strung around the castle, providing a special holiday warmth.

“Baltimore sounds really lovely,” Hank says.

Another lie, another chip at my resolve.

“You miss it?”

“Parts of it. I’m not used to being away from my home over the holidays.”

Hank rubs my leg, in a friendly way that my body chooses to interpret differently. A comforting twinkle sparkles in his eye.

“Don’t worry, Nick. We’re going to make sure you have a great time in Sourwood. You want to see some more houses?”

“There’s more?”

Hank and Brody look at each other and nod aggressively.

The next ninety minutes fly by as we crisscross Sourwood, taking in the sights and the lights. Who knew driving around looking at holiday decorations could be a form of entertainment?

The lights are cool, but for me, it’s the company. Hank, Brody, and I talk and laugh as we gawk over each house. We come up with a rating scale to judge houses. Some are beautiful and elegant. Some are gloriously tacky. Some could do better. As we stop at each house, we have to give our rating, like Olympic judges holding up their marks. Ten is tasteful, one is gaudy.

Hank blasts Christmas carols on the stereo from the local radio station, and we rate those songs in our tasteful-gaudy scale. Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song”? A ten. Kelly Clarkson’s “Underneath the Tree”? We give it a seven, mostly tasteful with some fun gaudiness. “Grandma got run over by a reindeer”? A one: all gaudy.

Halfway through, Hank runs into Caroline’s, a local diner, and grabs us hot chocolates to go. We go to a grocery store and pick up a box of sugar cookies from their bakery. I have never tasted such deliciousness.

There’s magic in the air tonight as time blurs in the black sky. It could be eight o’clock or three in the morning. The world feels elastic.

“Do you have time for one more house?” Hank asks as we pull away from an estate that put up a neon display of the Jesus nativity scene in their front yard. (That’s a three on the scale. Mostly gaudy, yet the figures are nice enough looking to be a tad tasteful.)

“Let’s do it.” I cram the bottom half of my Christmas tree sugar cookie into my mouth and finish the last bits of hot chocolate.

“We’re saving the best for last.” Hank looks down at my feet. “Good. You’re wearing sneakers.”

“You have a chocolate mustache,” I tell Hank before wiping it off myself. I feel somewhat drunk on chocolate and Christmas and the endless expanse of the night. He steadies me with a look, a bit of seriousness amid all our joking, that thrums within me.

A few minutes later, he parks in front of the biggest inflatable display I’ve seen tonight. The house is in a more rural part of town, with a large expanse of land. A family’s entire front and side lawns are decked out with Christmas inflatables, creating an obstacle course. Adults frolic through the display. Kids race each other through the bobs and weaves of the inflatables.

“This is like a Christmas haunted house, except not haunted,” Hank says as we walk up to the entrance. We pass through a Christmas tunnel, then into a field of oversized inflatable ornaments. Elements of an obstacle course are mixed into the display.

“They just have this here? And they’re okay with people coming on their lawn?” I ask, bowled over by the generosity of these neighbors.

“Been doing it for over a decade,” Hank says.