The Christmas of ‘75

The Christmas of ‘75
By
Paul Forster

“Hi, Grandpa, am I bothering you?”

“No, Troy, you’re not, come sit with me and we’ll talk.”

“Thanks, Grandpa, can you tell me about the Christmas of ‘75?”

“Why do you want to know about that one, Troy? That was years before you were born.”

“We have to give a speech in English about the funniest Christmas. I couldn’t think of one so I asked Gramma and she said, ‘Go ask your grandfather about the Christmas of ‘75.”

“Well then, let me tell you the story. It all started because it was your Aunt Elsie’s turn to do Christmas that year. She always decorated the first week of December, and she always swore the tree sat in water, but I know it didn’t, it shed needles like a porcupine and they were sharp little suckers too.

There were twelve of us, the typical crowd of in-laws and out-laws with us guys sitting around drinking, telling lies and pretending we knew everything, the usual stuff us old dudes do. The women were in a confab discussing kids and other female things and all the kids were in Elsie’s back yard.

Elsie decided the air needed freshening and lit one of those smelly candles, Bayberry, she said. Then, without looking, she reached to set it on the mantle,”

“Yeah, mom puts them around too. Sometimes I go from apple pie to pepper mint to chocolate chip cookie to Bayberry just going to the bathroom.”

“Things get strange around the holidays.”

“So what did Aunt Elsie do with the candle?”

“She reached to set it on the mantle, but she did it without looking and didn’t see her cat. I was standing behind her and saw the cat jump just as Elsie put the candle down. It was something for one of those TV comedy shows and whoever directed it was going to win an Oscar.”

“Oscars are for movies, it’s something else for TV.”

“Whatever, they’d win for sure.”

“And the cat knocked the candle over, big deal.”

“Do you want hear this?”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

“Good! Less talking and more listening then.

The cat didn’t just knock the candle over that would’ve been no problem. No, the cat caught the candle with its front paws, not the mantel, and pulled it over directly into its face. When that cat realized what was going on it flipped itself over, kicked with its hind feet and threw the candle into the top of Elsie’s tree.”

“Oh, God, Grandpa, did it start a fire? Was the cat okay?”

“Careful with the God part, Troy. The cat was fine, after it started the fracas it sat in a corner calmly washing its face and watching us make fools of ourselves.

The candle hit the tree about a foot from the top and the top burned like a bomb. A big Whuumpf, a flash of fire and smoke and the angel top was gone too. Of course that set off the smoke and firealarms and triggered the auto-call to fire, rescue, police and maybe CIA and KGB too, but no one knew that until they all showed up.”

“God… sorry Grandpa, was anyone hurt? Did anyone get to ride in an ambulance?”

“No! And no.. Contain yourself, you have a long time in front of you, almost all of mine is behind me. Let me tell my story my way.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

“Okay, where was I?… Yes, Elsie tried to rescue the tree, but instead she set her hair on fire, and started screaming like a banshee, jumping up and down, turning in the same spot and hitting herself on the top of her head trying to beat out the flames. Actually there probably isn’t a banshee that could hold their own in a screaming contest with your Aunt Elsie.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Careful, buddy, if she heard that you might not survive the verbal onslaught. And the word is isn’t, not ain’t.”

“You’re as bad as my English teacher.”

“Worse, I’m your grandfather and I won’t let you switch classes. I hope you learn the value of being understood soon, Troy, it’ll get you a lot farther.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

“Now where was..., Elsie was screaming, jumping up and down and beating the top of her head trying to put out her wig. What she was actually doing was fanning the flames and making it worse. Not only had her dinner been ruined, but her wig was gone. Elsie always swore she didn’t wear a wig, but we all knew she did.

The tree was burning like a Roman Candle and I knew it would burn the house down so I got the only big container of liquid I could think of. Elsie had put that huge soup tureen she uses full of her gravy on the table and that’s what I grabbed. She always made a couple of gallons and she’d freeze the leftovers then feed it to us the rest of the year.”

“I like Aunt Elsie’s turkey gravy.”

“Good, you get mine next time. Now what was…, when I threw that gravy it fanned out like a brown sheet that settled like a liquid blanket.on Elsie, Elsie’s hair, the tree, half the presents, the sofa and anything else in the area. It hit your Uncle Aarons feet too and he still hassles me about buying him new shoes because he couldn’t get it all off.

“I thought for a while I’d make my millions selling it because I can not tell you the smothering effect your Aunt Elsies gravy has. You’ll learn that in a few years eating it, I always feel smothered after one of her turkey dinners. That fire was gone instantly.

“Just as I threw it Elsie screamed, “NNNOOOO,” and four cops ran in with guns drawn shouting, ‘Drop! Hands up! Stop! Police! Police!’ and anything else they could think of. To this day I don’t know why no one was shot. I’ve also always wondered if Elsie would have been happier with us all being shot, the house burned down and everyone dying as long as her gravy was saved. She still blames me for all of it.

“She finally yanked the wig she always swore she never wore, but everyone knew she always did, off and threw it in the fireplace. I think having her wig lie exposed was the big problem, but poor Elsie was still trying to hide her mostly bald head with her hands while continuing jumping and screaming.

“About then the fire-people showed up, two were women, and the paramedics, both women. I finally convinced the cops that it wasn’t a gang war and to put their guns away. The lead police officer was a woman too and she laughed through most of the fracas.

“Elsie was still hopping around making funny noises and the lead had two of the other officers give her a pull-over watch cap and with my help we got her calmed down to sit in another room. The lead cop was still laughing when they left and said, “That’s going to be one hell of a Christmas story.”

“One of the fire people said to another they thought the gravy was the best fire retardant they’d ever seen and I was even more convinced there was money there. The response was, It’s too thick and heavy, and that was the damper on my plans. An hour later all the emergency people were gone and we were cleaning up the mess, Elsie was still in her bedroom wailing and bemoaning her existence. According to her all future life was ruined.”

“Is all this really true, Grandpa?”

“It’s as true as any story needs to be. See that gold statue?”

“Yeah. You said you got it for giving a speech. I like it because of the cowboy throwing the bull over his shoulder. I’d like to see that in a rodeo.”

“Not a speech, telling a story. I’ve belonged to a club called Toastmasters for many years. We tell stories at our meetings and that’s the Throwing The Bull trophy for the best story. We’re invited sometimes to open parties or other events with amusing stories. It’s called warming up the crowd and that’s what I did at an inauguration before you were born. I told that story, and with the laughter and remarks it took a half an hour. It seemed longer and I enjoyed each minute.

“But is it true?”

“As true as it needs to be. It actually happened and Elsie’s tree and wig did burn and I put it out with her gravy and the cops and fire people showed up too. I added a few details, but everyone in the family knows that’s what happened.

“We also do impromptu stories at our ToastMasters meeting and the first one I got picked for I had no idea what to say. I watched my feet going to the podium. I had on white running shoes, and remembered sneakers I’d worn as a kid called, P.F. Flyers. Because my initials are P. F. I decided to tell about owning the company and using my name to name them. I won that day.

“Now, go tell it on the mountain, so to speak.”

“Sometimes you don’t make sense, Grandpa. What mountain? And I can’t remember all that.”

“You don’t need toremember it all and the mountain is the effort it’ll take to climb up and tell your story. Make it your story, Troy. Tell what you can remember, but add little things that fill it out and make it funny. That’s the way all stories are told. The fun for the teller is in all the details they add. Practice it looking in a mirror and when you think you’ve got it come tell it to me. If it needs a little spiffing up, I’ll help you.”

“Thanks, Grandpa. I’ll try.”

“No, Troy, you'll do it. I know you’ll do a good job. Just remember, it’s supposed to be fun. Some famous author once said, ‘No tears in the author, no tears in the reader,’ and it works for laughter too. If you can’t laugh or cry at your own story, no one else will either.”

“I’ll try, Grandpa.”

“No, Troy, you’ll do it, I know you will. Now, go practice your speech, then come back and make me laugh.“

“‘Okay, Grandpa. Thank you. Maybe some day I’ll get to tell a story and win a trophy.”

“We’ll see how this one goes and I’ll take you with me to the next Toastmasters meeting if you want, and your mother approves of course. I think you’ll get a kick out of it. Tell your story there and you could win a trophy. Now, go and get it done.”

“Really, Grandpa, really? You’d do that for me?”

“Yes, Troy, I will, now go.”

“Yes, Grandpa, thank you Grandpa.”

“You’re welcome, Troy… I love that boy and he’s going to make it big, he’s got the drive.”