My mother and father spend most of their time in Henderson, Nevada, the small dusty sidecar of Las Vegas. Henderson was just like any other time in America, o Nly with slot machines in the laundromat. It was 1990, and Vegas was boomin' baby, But Jeanie and Terry weren't gamblers, or dealers, or mafiosos, or lounge singers. They were just two normal people trying to keep up with the pack in a 116 degree rat race. Now those rats, they nibbled long enough. Now I don't know what a mosey looks like, But they packed up their house, and their clothes, and their me and they mosied on out of Dodge. Of course I had my gripes about leaving, I mean I had a life in Henderson. Kenny and Kevin Headner were just two houses up, the desert fort behind my house wasn't gonna defend itself, but what could I do? I was nine, a nine year old can't just stage a sit in while the rest of the family checks out. This wasn't a Home Alone movie, so, I went where the sweet and sour chicken was cooked, and the ice-cold caffeine-free Coke was just a fridge away. And just like that, from sage brush, slot machines, and Elvis to Footloose, onion days, and Jewel. She was born there, after all. This place called Pacen, Utah, God's Country. Population: Blink, and you'll miss it. Dad got a job in the produce department in the Smith's Food King, which is fitting since he managed to produce six kids: April, Shelly, Amy, Stephanie, and my brother, Shane. I was in fouth grade at the time, an age when boys started thinking more like men. And there wasn't a dull moment. I'd have my first fight, my first crush, my first rodeo, But most importantly, my first white Christmas. I did my best to fit in, and I did as my teacher said, but that year, one teacher stood out from the rest. He didn't just stand out from the rest, he sung out. His name was Mr. Hanson, and on a frosty December morning, he explained to us the story of the old standard, I'll Be Home for Christmas. A tale of a World War II soldier, stationed overseas, writing a letter to his family about the return that he may never make. I saw it struck deep in him. Now it would be easy to describe Mr. Hanson as brave, after all, this was a man who himself had served his country during the Korean War. But getting up in front of twenty-five nine year olds and singing acapella? That's a whole other kind of bravery altogether. The other kids were looking for the nearest escape. They couldn't bare the embarrassment. But not me, I was wrapped up in it. I couldn't help myself. I knew I was experiencing something different from the others, but I was uplifted, so it didn't matter. I felt the isolation of war, I felt the power of a song. And that's the kind of thing that sticks with you. You don't let it go, and so for this here Christmas song, I have a friend I brought along. He's 86, but sounds like 20. And though the other kids might find it funny, he'd like to sing this song for you, and if he doesn't mind, I might join in, too. I'll be home for Christmas You can count on me Please have snow and mistletoe And presents on the tree Oh Christmas Eve will find me Where the love light gleans I'll be home for Christmas If only in my dreams I'll be home for Christmas You can count on me Please have snow and mistletoe And presents on the tree Oh Christmas Eve will find me Where the love light gleans I'll be home for Christmas If only in my dreams If only in my dreams