That wonderful time long ago and far away. Thanksgiving to Christmas was, during my childhood, a mix of magic and weirdness.
My dad finally allowed my three year old brother to sit, minus the high chair, on three phone books at our Thanksgiving feast. Little Eric was so proud, and dad was most gracious, filling his plate with all the goodies, including giblets in gravy over his dressing. When he put a piece of dark meat into the kid’s mouth, Dad asked, “What do you think?”
“It’s a little tough, but I like it, Dad. What is it?”
Always the jokester, dad whispered that it was the turkey’s private-part. Yeah, old pop really caught hell for that one! My other brother and I thought it was totally funny, but refrained from laughing in front of Mom. She was pissed.
I’ll never forget my ninth Christmas. Santa brought me a Red Ryder BB gun! I was the only kid on the block that got one that year. Dad insisted on hand holding a balloon in the backyard for my first target practice. He tried to calm my hesitancy by simply telling me, “Aim at the far end of the balloon, Steve, and hurry. It’s cold out here.” The balloon rotated wildly in the wind, the sight on the gun wavered, and I put a BB in dad’s thumb. Mom removed it in the kitchen, and it didn’t even leave a scar! Other than that, we had a beautiful white Christmas that year.
Truly a most wonderful time of the year. The “or not”? It’s your call.
To read the details about these and other Steve Crabill adventures, check out, Wipe That Smile Off Your Face.