My dad used to read ‘‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” every Christmas Eve when I was a kid, after dinner and before we opened our Christmas pjs.
So many of you are missing your dads, or grandparents, or the father of your kids. This year, I asked my dad to record the Christmas Eve classic for the show. I wanted you to have a stand-in grandpa, in case you were missing one of your own.
From my family to yours, may you have the best holiday season available to you.
(‘Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Clarke Moore was first published in 1823)
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This is it's okay that you're not okay, and I'm your host, Megan Divine. This week a very special bonus episode, one that I hope will make your Christmas Eve a little sweeter. Stay tuned, everybody, Your new Tradition coming up right after this first break. The holiday classic Twas the Night Before Christmas was written by Clement Clark Moore for his own kids. It was first published in eighteen twenty three and has been part of Christmas traditions for over a century. It was definitely part of my own family traditions. My dad used to read Twas the Night Before Christmas every single Christmas Eve, after dinner and before we were allowed to open our Christmas pjs. Now, my mom, my brother, and I would also do sound effects as he read it, which may or may not been awesome for him, but it was really fun. It's been a long time since those Christmases. The memory of that is so clear and so bright in my mind. So this year I asked my dad to record Twas the Night Before Christmas so that I could share that story and my dad with you. I know so many of you are missing your dads, or your grandparents, or the father of your own kids. Maybe you just really wish you had a father figure in your life. So I thought I could volunteer my dad to be your stand in Dad or your stand in Grandpa, narrating this Christmas story for you and your family. My dad is thrilled to be even a small part of your family traditions this year, and I am so happy to share him with you. Without further ado, everybody, twas the Night before Christmas, written by Clement Clark Moore and read to you by my dad William Divine the third, from my family to yours. May you have the best holiday season available to you.
It was the night before Christmas. Went all through the house, but a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. And Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap had just settled down for a long winter's nap, when out on the lawn there were rose such a clatter. I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter away to the window. I flew like a flash to open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh and a tiny reindeer, with the little old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be Saint nick more rapid than eagles. His coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name. Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer, and Vixen, on comet, on Cupid, on Donner, and Blitzen, to the top of the porch, to the top of the wall. Now dash away, dash away, dash away, all as dry leaves it before the wild hurricane fly when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the housetop the coursers they flew, with a sleigh full of toys, and Saint Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof, as I drew in my hand and was turning around down the chimney, Saint Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his back. His eyes, how they twinkled, His dimples, how merry. His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook me laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf. And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside of his no and giving a nod up the chimney, he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team, gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him explain. There he drove out of sight. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
A year after with Megan Divine as written and produced by me Megan Divine. Executive producer is Amy Brown, co produced by Elizabeth Fozzio. Logistical and social media support from Micah, Edited by Houston Tilley, music provided by Wave Crush and background noises provided by Luna yelling at anyone walking by
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