Holiday
Writing
Usually by this time in the Christmas
season I've written and mailed off an uproariously funny “family letter” to all of my close relatives, the ones who understand how truly off balance I am. But this year my humor writing mojo seems to
be in Florida with all the old folks, so that letter never happened. Last year I posted an article on my blog site
about overcoming the cynicism and commercialism that seems to rise up so
strongly around Thanksgiving. If you
want to remember that bit of redemptive writing just check out the blog archive. But this year I’m not going to try an
inspirational message either.
Nope.
This year I’m going to tell you a story.
This story won’t be a retelling of “A Christmas Carol” or “Miracle on
Some Street in New York City” or “Charlie Brown’s Amazingly Boring Christmas
Special”. You won’t be inspired or moved
to tears of empathy. In fact this story doesn't even take place at Christmas time.
It’s more of a late fall thing though there is a brief Christmas
reference. Watch for it. Here’s the story.
Starter
Trouble
Many years ago on an early November
Saturday morning two boys, ages eleven and ten, sat in a car arguing. The car was a ’56 Plymouth station wagon,
only a year or so old though it had the distinct aromatic ambiance of Pall Mall
unfiltered cigarettes. The boys weren't smoking. At least not at this time.
The argument so far had not reached the
point of physical contact because at any moment the boys’ father would return
to the car and notice any blood or bruises.
The eleven year old was putting forth the idea that it was easy to start
a car but he would never do such a thing, at least not until he was a little
older and had permission. The ten year
old agreed that starting a car was very easy and he would show his brother the
proper technique since said brother was a real low down coward for not even
taking the dare and trying to turn the key.
Dares were serious in those days.
Being accused of low down cowardice was an even more serious matter.
The two boys, let’s call the oldest one
David and the younger one Daniel, had been in the car for nearly three
hours. They were passengers as their
father drove around the neighborhoods near Lake Ontario not far from their
home. Their dad was earning extra money
by collecting payments for magazine subscriptions that folks had bought over
the phone and while he was collecting he was also trying to sell new subscriptions. People read genuine paper copies of magazines
back in those olden times, sometimes several every week. The boys were with their father so that their
mom would have a slight break and only have to worry about three kids instead
of the usual household complement of five.
And, as a reward for putting up with the boredom of riding around the
magazine route, the boys would get a great hamburger lunch at a local lakeside
joint which was, and still is, a major treat.
But let’s get back to the argument. David was faced with a large moral
dilemma. He had seen the car started
thousands of times. Insert the key, push
one of the pedals down near the floor, turn the key and the car will start. Simple.
However starting the car without permission would constitute a major break
in the rules of life. Their dad had said
“Don’t touch anything in this car. Ever.” He was pretty clear about that rule. But Daniel had played the “low down coward”
card and somehow David knew he had to come up with a counter-play or completely
lose face, probably for the rest of his natural life. It was a big moment. So David went for the stall. He told Daniel that when they got to the
Hunsacker’s house he would accept the dare because the Hunsacker’s always gave
their dad a cup of coffee and talked about new subscriptions and major world
affairs for at least twenty minutes.
That would be plenty of time to either kick Daniel’s butt or distract
him with a reverse dare involving something less drastic than car starting.
Their Dad then came back and drove on to
the next stop. There was no one
home. So he turned onto Braddock Road
and cruised up to North Street. He
stopped. It was the Hunsacker
place. Just before he closed the door as
he left the car their dad said “You guys are doing okay today. This is the last stop. The Charcoal Pit is only a few minutes
away. Don’t screw it up.” David and Daniel just nodded their
heads.
Then Daniel said to David “You’re the
worst kind of coward if you don’t start the car.” He was a persistent boy when it came to rule
breaking. David couldn't find a way out
of this one. So he threw a pretty good
right hook to Daniel’s neck but the punch didn't seem to work very well. Daniel countered with a flurry of slaps which
sent David’s glasses to the floor.
Punching blindly David moved in for a Davy Crockett bear hug technique but
Daniel pulled a reverse and pushed his brother’s face up against the window. They held the position for a long time. Daniel clearly had the upper hand. David said “Give”. They both climbed from the back to the front
seat. David wished his father was more
careful about taking the keys when leaving the car. But he wasn't and they were dangling from the
ignition switch just above the lighter.
As David settled into the driver’s seat he
realized that his legs were just a little too short. The pedal pushing part of starting was going
to be a problem. But his brother had the
solution as he crawled down in front of the bench seat. He volunteered to push the clutch and gas
pedals with his hands while his big brother turned the switch. After deciding on a countdown procedure,
which was accomplished with surprising quickness, they each did their jobs. The car coughed a little but didn't start. David told his brother to push
the gas pedal a little harder and they cranked the engine again. Nothing but a solid grinding and clicking
noise came from beneath the hood. After
seven more attempts the engine caught with a roar that startled Daniel so badly
his hand slipped from the clutch pedal.
The car bucked once, jerking a few inches forward, and died off with a
wheeze. The boys scrambled for the back
seat.
When their dad came out of Hunsacker’s
house with a slight smile on his face and a sheaf of new subscriptions in his
hand the boys relaxed. They figured he’d
start the car and never notice the sixteen inch change in its position. He got into the car, lit a cigarette and with
his usual practiced precision turned the key.
The starter clicked. The engine didn't roar. He tried again. He glanced at the boys, got out of the car
and went to the hood latch. The boys
could see his arms beneath the hood through a gap over the front seat. He wiggled wires and he rested his hand for a
second on a strange looking canister shaped part.
The boys froze as he slowly opened the
door and looked at them. He said “The
distributor cap is pretty warm. You guys weren't touching anything were you?” The
reply was, of course, “Nope. Not
us. We've just been sitting here
waiting.” Denial was a staple of their young
lives. Their dad walked back to
Hunsacker’s house, an angry tension in his shoulders, knocked and went in. The boys began their litany of blame. “It was your fault.” “No, you made me do it.” “Did not.”
“Did.” Then their father’s face
appeared at the window. He opened the
door and asked what the argument was all about.
“Nothing” was the simultaneous reply.
He lit another cigarette and said that a tow truck would be along
shortly. Then he said “This is going to
cost a lot of money. Christmas might just
be cancelled or at least cut down to nearly nothing. You boys will have to make some sacrifices so
your sister and little brothers get at least a little something. You won’t have a problem with that, will you boys?” They choked out “No” in chorus.
The tow truck came but wasn't needed. The driver and the boys’ father
were able to jump start the car. The
driver was paid twenty dollars and he went on his way. It was almost one o’clock when they reached
the Charcoal Pit. David was sent into
the restaurant to get the burgers and drinks so that the car could stay
running. He was sure he’d come out to
find that he’d been ratted out by his brother.
And he was. The scolding was loud
and the punishment swift. David thought
that, in spite of the pain, it actually felt pretty good to get everything
settled, even if Daniel got away with his part in the crime as usual. And though they knew they didn't deserve it,
it came to pass that Christmas wasn't cancelled that year.
That’s it for the old blog site this
year. Hope you all have a very Merry
Christmas (or whichever equally important Holiday you observe) and a Happy New
Year. Look for a new poem on www.bluecollarpoetrybyjimbourey.blogspot.com
very soon.
