I don't know, but he might.

Today, right now, it is just Caleb and I. Everyone else is at parties. We have just finished a little sprucing up for others who will visit us this evening.

We were done. So, I said to Caleb...

"Hey, I want to play you a song." (This was while he was in mid-stride up the stairs to play the Gamecube).

"O.k.," he said with that little raised inflection at the end of the "k" that reeks of indulgence.

"It is my favorite Christmas version of any Christmas song. Remind me later and I will tell you a little story about the first time I heard it"

So, the song starts. It is "Stille Nacht" or "Silent Night", the version by Mannheim Steamroller.

The song begins. So I said half-jokingly and half not, "One day, Caleb, years from now you might remember this day, the day your dad made you listen to Silent Night while we sat drinking our Diet Cokes. Often, small-thing days like this you remember."

"Yea, but it doesn't seem like that right now."

"I know. Just trust me and keep listening." And he courteously listened and then retraced his steps up the stairs.

I dare you.
Do this for you.

This Christmas, maybe Christmas eve, after everyone has slid into bed and slid into sleep, find this song and play it. Play it in the dark of the night and the dark of the house, the only lights those from the Christmas tree and from above the mantle. Find a spot best by a fire. Close your eyes. Listen. And when the song is done, stay there still.

I don't know if it will happen. I don't know if he Caleb will ask me to tell him the story about the first time I heard the song though I will be sure to tell him anyway.

I don't know if Caleb will remember this day amidst his own children, his own house, his own whatever, when the song plays. But right then, he might just pause for a moment, be still, listen, smile gently.