This memory just came to mind today. Joyce and I went to a sale before Christmas one year. I have always liked bells and they were selling a long (belt-like sized) strap with about 15 large jingle bells on it. We just loved it on the inside of the front door and whenever anyone entered the bells jingled with a wonderful sound. The only one who didn't like it was our daughter. With the bells sounding an alarm she couldn't sneak home late at night without waking us up. I give her credit, she tried, but it was impossible to enter without a chorus of jingle bells. It tickled Joyce and me.
My dad was a weekday teetotaler, never had a drop, but come Friday night or the night before a holiday and it was pop a top on a beer time that ran until it was time to sober up before work the next day. I was just a wee lad when we had a big two-story house. The bedrooms were upstairs and the living room downstairs. The steps to the upstairs were so many that there was a landing and then a turn and a few steps more to the top floor. There was a narrow ledge out from the second floor that went over the landing. I was young and skinny as a rail, so skinny I could slide out and lay on that ledge. I discovered I could see down the steps and into the living room. Christmas eve one year was like most all the others, me and my brother were sent to bed so mom and dad could put out the presents. My brother went to sleep in short order (he was just a pup back then.) Me, I wanted to know what was going on downstairs, maybe catch old Santa. I slid out on my ledge and looked into the living room. Much to my surprise dad was there trying to put bicycles together! He was in a rather inebriated state, so the bicycle assembly was not going well and not only that, but I realized that Santa looked a lot like daddy or daddy looked a lot like him, (Buck Owens song from eons ago.) The next morning on Christmas the bicycles were still not assembled and mom said Santa was running late and didn't have time to complete them so dad had to finish the job.
One last story, one Christmas Eve Mary Catherine's parents had a Christmas party to go to. They asked mom if they could drop off her and her sister for 2 hours so they could attend the party. Mary Catherine was my nemesis in school. The nuns there always favored the girls over the boys for some reason I still do not understand, but now I have an idea, a not so nice idea but that has no place in this story. To continue, her parents did not show up until midnight. I had retired upstairs just so I did not have to be with Mary Catherine long before that. I was still young enough that while I wasn't sure about if Santa was real, but I was concerned that he or dad was not going to have time to put presents under and around the tree. Mary Catherine remained in my life until the end of grade school and once the summer after, the last time she made me miserable. I never missed her once she was finally gone and don't know if she ever missed me. I was by then on to other Catholic high school girls.
Copyright Bill Weber 2018 and beyond.
My dad was a weekday teetotaler, never had a drop, but come Friday night or the night before a holiday and it was pop a top on a beer time that ran until it was time to sober up before work the next day. I was just a wee lad when we had a big two-story house. The bedrooms were upstairs and the living room downstairs. The steps to the upstairs were so many that there was a landing and then a turn and a few steps more to the top floor. There was a narrow ledge out from the second floor that went over the landing. I was young and skinny as a rail, so skinny I could slide out and lay on that ledge. I discovered I could see down the steps and into the living room. Christmas eve one year was like most all the others, me and my brother were sent to bed so mom and dad could put out the presents. My brother went to sleep in short order (he was just a pup back then.) Me, I wanted to know what was going on downstairs, maybe catch old Santa. I slid out on my ledge and looked into the living room. Much to my surprise dad was there trying to put bicycles together! He was in a rather inebriated state, so the bicycle assembly was not going well and not only that, but I realized that Santa looked a lot like daddy or daddy looked a lot like him, (Buck Owens song from eons ago.) The next morning on Christmas the bicycles were still not assembled and mom said Santa was running late and didn't have time to complete them so dad had to finish the job.
One last story, one Christmas Eve Mary Catherine's parents had a Christmas party to go to. They asked mom if they could drop off her and her sister for 2 hours so they could attend the party. Mary Catherine was my nemesis in school. The nuns there always favored the girls over the boys for some reason I still do not understand, but now I have an idea, a not so nice idea but that has no place in this story. To continue, her parents did not show up until midnight. I had retired upstairs just so I did not have to be with Mary Catherine long before that. I was still young enough that while I wasn't sure about if Santa was real, but I was concerned that he or dad was not going to have time to put presents under and around the tree. Mary Catherine remained in my life until the end of grade school and once the summer after, the last time she made me miserable. I never missed her once she was finally gone and don't know if she ever missed me. I was by then on to other Catholic high school girls.
Copyright Bill Weber 2018 and beyond.
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