Holiday Writing

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.