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A CHRISTMAS STORY |
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Being a night person, most of the
time Mom worked the swing shift in North Las Vegas, first in Lincoln Snyder’s soda
fountain and later as a barmaid at the Northside Tavern; but once in awhile she would
trade shifts, which meant that if it was summer and there was no school Billy and I would
be free to go where we wanted to without much supervision. Our favorite place was the city
dump..
If it was a weekend and there was no one around we would play on the tractors and cranes
that moved the rubbish and debris. During the week we’d slide on our bellies past
mounds of refuse, hiding from the attendants, who would always try to chase us away.
One Christmas Eve one of the bartenders got drunk and couldn’t report for work the
next day so Mama worked a double shift. It was wonderful. We had the whole day and evening
to play at the dump and it was our idea of a real Christmas. What treasures we found that
day. A floor lamp, an easy chair with half the stuffing gone, an old box of
somebody’s discarded toys, old clothes, and more bottles than we could possibly carry
to the market to redeem for the meager deposit.
Sometime during the afternoon it occurred to us, as a surprise for Mom, to redecorate the
house with the furniture and odd bits of bric-a-brac we’d found at the dump. Billy
had a red and yellow wagon and we must have made twenty trips, lugging all our goodies
home. Of course, to make room for these treasures, we had to move all the furniture and
trunks already in the house out into the front yard. While we were doing this, someone
came by and thought we were having a rummage sale. I couldn’t believe it when Billy
came running in to tell me he’d been offered $5 for Mama’s dresser. What a
source of newfound money!
In just over two hours we were able to sell all the furniture we’d moved out on the
lawn, plus the curtains from the windows, pots and pans. And Mama’s doilies. We even
sold the oilcloth off the kitchen table for twenty-five cents.
It would be dark soon and so we had to complete our refurbishing before the light faded. I
don’t think either of us ever worked so hard. In the end we were both so tired we
fell asleep on the torn and soiled, but pretty, satin bedspread we’d replaced on
Mama’s bed after selling off her comforter.
You can imagine her surprise when she came home from working two long shifts serving
drinks to merrymakers and refereeing bar bouts between Christmas drunks.. Perhaps
‘surprise’ is not the correct word. I’m not sure what is.
Mama was too tired to spank us but she screamed and cried a lot. Though at the time we
couldn’t understand why. She had the new floor lamp. Even if it didn’t work it
could probably be fixed. And, our latest kitchen table was larger than the old one. I had
nearly mashed my thumb while hammering a two-by-four in place to replace a missing leg. It
now listed a bit, but the angle wasn’t so bad that utensils and plates would likely
slip off.
The curtains were very different from the old ones; while there were only three windows in
the living room, there were now twice that many curtains on them. I distinctly remember
Mama having said many times that she’d like to get rid of that old junk in the house.
‘Just for a change.’ Well, now she had her change. We hadn’t yet found a
replacement stove, but there were more than enough pots and pans left over from the sale
that could be used if and when we did.
Mom continued to look dazed, but she came to life again when she started to sit down on
the new davenport. It collapsed completely under her, all three sides falling away. It was
then that I handed her the envelope containing the money we’d received from the sale
of the old furniture: $71.30. It had been planned as a Christmas gift all along, and Billy
had written in crayon on the outside of the envelope, To Mama, Merry Christmas from The
Katzenjammer Kids.
Mama didn’t speak for a long time, but when she did she just looked up and said,
"Merry Christmas." And it was.
- from "Finding My Father," 1975, 1976. |
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Helen Brann o
Jimmy Buffett o Carlos Castanada o Quentin Crisp o Lord Lew Grade o Conrad Hilton o Annie Lennox o Little Richard o Barbara Mandrell o Isaac Newton o Anwar Sadat o Hanna Schygulla o Rod Serling o Sissy Spaceck o Phil Spector |
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To you I send the
season’s greetings, would it were myself.
Love is another word for Christmas.
Don’t forget whose birthday we celebrate today.
If we kept Christmas every day apologies would be unnecessary. |
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THE VIRGIN Too much was asked of one small virgin
that she should be an architect
and labor as a workman does
yet do so in an angel’s guise.
Those of us who think ourselves experienced
are given scriptures as The Daily News
and told beyond all doubt that they are fact.
Present fiction has a truer ring
than some old writings of another time.
Men have sailed beyond the ocean’s edge
and even walked out on the moon;
why not a virgin birth?
Well. There was no television then
and Norman Mailer had no notes
he’d scribbled at the scene.
Still, if man today can build with vision
and tear down with lack of conscience,
yesterday’s young virgin’s giving birth
is hardly miracle enough to turn our heads.
The marvel is that some of us are still around
to celebrate this august birthday once again.
- From The Carols of Christmas," 1971
FOR YOU / Christmas, 1976
The year
now winding down
I pull my winter coat
a little tighter
and walk out through the snow.
Everywhere the world is waiting
for Father Christmas to come
sliding down the chimney
I do not think he’ll disappoint us
this time out.
I think he knows
we’ve earned our toys,
our tinsel and our time
to be together peacefully
this year more than ever.
Happy Birthday
to the Christ Child
and the country.
And to you,
be happy and be kind.
Keep Christmas in your heart.
Be patient. The snow will melt
as our love for all things good
will go on
growing.
-from The Rod
McKuen / Animal Concern 1976 Calendar & Datebook, 1975 |
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