J.E. Marley had been angry for 70 years – ever since he realized that his mother had named him after two characters in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Jacob Ebenezer Marley. The chain-bound ghost and the bitter old man.

Jacob rarely let anyone know his given name, being careful to list himself always and only as “J.E.” But, somehow, the opening scenes of A Christmas Carol infused his character. Even in grade school, he appeared sullen and unfriendly.

Raised by a single mother, he was frequently home alone, left to carry out adult tasks.

A career as floor manager in a food packaging plant did nothing to improve his outlook. He was caught between owners who belittled him and workers who defied him. Stress increased his anger and orneriness, but he stayed for the salary and the pension plan.

He provided his wife and son with a large house in an upper-middle-class suburb of Chicago. The house, however, was not enough to buy their love and loyalty. Wife, then son, left him. He remained in his four-bedroom house, alone in his old age.

J.E. tolerated his long-time neighbors, Charles and Edna Fuller. The Fullers raised two quiet, well-behaved boys who went on to college and law school. Edna brought him baked goods. Charlie or one of the boys faithfully used their snowblower to clear J.E’s sidewalk and driveway. For his part, J.E. kept his lawn mowed, his bushes trimmed, and his house in good repair. He was fastidious about the property line … as were the Fullers.

When Charles died, Edna put the house on the market and moved to a condo. J.E. hoped for good neighbors but was deeply disappointed when the McCallisters moved in. Five children. Five.

None of them respected J.E.’s property line or his need for quiet. The children punted balls into his backyard and pedaled bikes up and down his driveway. The parents did not introduce themselves or show any interest in J.E. When winter came, J.E. was on his own with snow removal.

One December day, as J.E. was scraping his driveway, he looked up to see three young people staring at him from a second-story window of the McCallister house. “Several healthy children and adults,” he thought. “A father with a Toro SnowMaster and none of you can offer to help an old man?” J.E. felt that glaring at his onlookers was more than justified.

J.E. hated the activity and gatherings at the McCallister house. The noise and camaraderie punched holes in his defenses against loneliness.

Almost every year at Christmas time, a second family invaded the neighborhood. A couple with five children arrived and settled in with the McCallister’s. J.E. assumed that some sort of family relationship was involved. His misery intensified.

A day after the annual pre-teen and adolescent invasion, J.E. heard his doorbell. He assumed he would encounter children when he eased the door just enough to glare at the intruder. Instead, he found a man in the uniform of a security guard.

“What?” J.E. grunted.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the man politely. “We expect a lot of families to be out of town over the holidays and are anticipating a high incidence of break-ins. I need a few minutes of your time to review your security measures.”

“Well, ‘Harry,’” J.E. answered, reading the man’s ID badge, “You can get off my step right now or I dial the police.”

Harry muttered, “No problem. No problem,” and hustled next door to the McCallister’s.

“Idiot,” J.E. said aloud as he shut and locked his front door. He was well aware of holiday break-ins; he was well aware of security measures; and he was well aware that Harry was a con man scouting the neighborhood.

Meanwhile, the McCallister commotion was louder than usual. Doors slamming, adults shouting, children yapping at each other. J.E. peeked through his dining room blinds and saw the whole dysfunctional clan shuffling suitcases into an airport van.

“Good!” he thought.

Harry stood at the edge of the chaos, hands on hips, nodding his head.

“Not my problem,” J.E. concluded, dropping the blind back into place.

The next day, J.E. walked to the neighborhood drug store to refill his blood pressure medicine. Near the front counter he saw, or thought he saw, one of the McCallister kids.

“Odd,” he thought, “I thought they all took off.” Sure that he recognized the child … and that the child recognized him … J.E. concluded that one child had elected to stay with friends rather than travel with the family. “Kids are in charge these days,” he decided, shaking his head sadly. He glared at the McCallister kid, silently condemning all entitled children everywhere.

The McCallister kid took one look at J.E., gasped, and ran out of the store.

That night J.E. heard sounds of a party at the McCallister house and found himself confused. Music blared from the windows. He saw people dancing and heard people laughing. Annoying, to say the least.

“I thought they all left … except that one kid. What’s he doing home? Oh … sure. He’s using the house for a party. I could call the cops. No … let him destroy the place. Serves them right.”

J.E. turned over in bed, pulled the quilt up to his ears and went back to sleep.

On the afternoon before Christmas, J.E. showered, shaved, and dressed in a sweater vest and tie. He brushed lint from his black wool overcoat and buffed the mud from his winter boots. He walked through the neighborhood, ignoring lights and decorations, focused only on his annual Christmas Eve pilgrimage.

Christmas Eve was the one time of the year when he saw his granddaughter. He sat toward the back of the church and observed her while she sang in the children’s choir. J.E. watched her closely to be sure that her smile was genuine, her eyes were happy, her hair was combed, and her clothes were clean.

He knew that she saw him every year and would be assured that he was near if she needed him.

His daughter-in-law, he was certain, was a good mother. But he worried whether his son could be a responsible father. He had long suspected that Brent was misusing drugs. J.E. had confronted him two years ago and offered to pay for care at a rehab facility. Brent brushed off his concerns, then shouted at J.E., called him a meddling old man—a poor excuse for a father. They hadn’t talked since.

A few pews from the back of the church J.E. spotted a child sitting alone. “The McCallister kid?” he asked himself. Apparently, whoever was watching the McCallister kid felt he would be safe going to church on his own. J.E. thought this was an irresponsible decision but had no idea who might be at fault.

Stepping closer, he looked down into the boy’s startled blue eyes. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly. “May I sit down?” J.E. surprised himself. Maybe it was the setting, maybe it was the music, maybe it was the fact that the child looked small and vulnerable when he was not part of a pack.

And the child surprised J.E. by saying “yes.” More surprising was how openly he shared his feelings about his family. “How you feel about your family is a complicated thing,” J.E assured the boy.

When the service ended, the McCallister kid hurried out of the church without looking back. J.E. lingered before starting the walk home and was surprised when his son tapped him on the shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” his son whispered. J.E. could only nod his head. After an uncomfortable silence, Brent said, “You weren’t wrong about me. Is that offer still good?”

“You come by tomorrow,” J.E. answered, “and we’ll talk.”

Jacob Ebenezer was a careful man—careful with his money and careful with his feelings. If his son was serious, then he would follow through by coming to the house.

“Christmas miracle?” J.E. asked himself as he walked home. “Maybe. We’ll see.”