Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Growing up, this was my favourite part of Christmas Day; the presents had been opened, dinner was cooking, and the mountain of shredded wrapping paper had been cleared away when, glutted with candy, I put down my Princess Diana picture books and everything stopped so I could watch the Queen's Message.
I was strict too; if anyone talked during it I'd shush them and everything, and not even a soft one either. Come to think of it, this may have been the reason the TV was banished from the living room.
I didn't make anyone stand when God Save The Queen was playing, though, but my great-grandfather and my grandfather would join me anyway, being Army men. My father was Air Force, and so didn't stand for anything; in fact, I think he must have been allergic to the display of respect, since he never did it himself.
As the song ended they would salute - in the Canadian way, of course - but I always used to salute the British way, which they were okay with, but which used to piss my father off so bad it was worth the smack he'd give me, out of the blue, about two weeks later.
Christmas really is a season of memories, isn't it?
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