Christmas Eve Fun
The stories were flying.
“I remember John sitting in a tree at the cemetery drinking Jack Daniels,” was the start of one of my stories.
It made my mother spit her drink.
“Why was he in a tree?” She asked. “Oh, forget it. You were all nuts.”
We laughed.
“I’m not kidding! The school would call, then there’d be a car accident, then someone was fighting, then your father would fight the teacher who yelled at you. One thing after another. Every damn day. I have no idea how we made it through. And your father was the biggest nut in the bunch.”
There was more laughter...
...another story flying around.
“They sandpapered my forehead.”
“I pulled over, she opened the door and then puked into the side pocket of the car.”
“The teacher called me and said that the rolled up tape, which was as big as a softball, banged off the chalkboard right beside her head.”
“Dad went down there and chased the teacher down the hall. The guy locked himself in his room and the principal had to talk Dad out of killing him.”
One story after another.
“Poor Carrie was the only true sane one,” Mom said. “It was never dull, that’s for sure.”
And somehow, we all made it through.
We certainly laughed a whole lot.
Then and now.
“You broke every window in the house. Someone was always fighting someone. And my God, the car crashes.”
My poor mother.
I hope that somehow God was able to tally it all up for her.
“The dinners. All that food. I’d make 30 pork chops for dinner and you’d be fighting each other for the last one. You’d eat 10 boxes of cereal a week. I think about it now and I wonder how we did it.”
I often marvel about it as well.
They not only did it, they taught us right and wrong...
...made us into good cooks and respectful people...
...and did it with good humor.
“Nuts,” Mom said, to sum it all up. “You were all crazy.”
There were tears in Mom’s eyes but a smile on her face.
“It was great,” she said. “We had fun.”
Yeah.
We certainly did.
“I remember John sitting in a tree at the cemetery drinking Jack Daniels,” was the start of one of my stories.
It made my mother spit her drink.
“Why was he in a tree?” She asked. “Oh, forget it. You were all nuts.”
We laughed.
“I’m not kidding! The school would call, then there’d be a car accident, then someone was fighting, then your father would fight the teacher who yelled at you. One thing after another. Every damn day. I have no idea how we made it through. And your father was the biggest nut in the bunch.”
There was more laughter...
...another story flying around.
“They sandpapered my forehead.”
“I pulled over, she opened the door and then puked into the side pocket of the car.”
“The teacher called me and said that the rolled up tape, which was as big as a softball, banged off the chalkboard right beside her head.”
“Dad went down there and chased the teacher down the hall. The guy locked himself in his room and the principal had to talk Dad out of killing him.”
One story after another.
“Poor Carrie was the only true sane one,” Mom said. “It was never dull, that’s for sure.”
And somehow, we all made it through.
We certainly laughed a whole lot.
Then and now.
“You broke every window in the house. Someone was always fighting someone. And my God, the car crashes.”
My poor mother.
I hope that somehow God was able to tally it all up for her.
“The dinners. All that food. I’d make 30 pork chops for dinner and you’d be fighting each other for the last one. You’d eat 10 boxes of cereal a week. I think about it now and I wonder how we did it.”
I often marvel about it as well.
They not only did it, they taught us right and wrong...
...made us into good cooks and respectful people...
...and did it with good humor.
“Nuts,” Mom said, to sum it all up. “You were all crazy.”
There were tears in Mom’s eyes but a smile on her face.
“It was great,” she said. “We had fun.”
Yeah.
We certainly did.
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