Christmas Trees – They Suck

I remember the first Christmas tree I helped bring home. We went to the local A&P store parking lot and walked up and down the rows of trees looking for something. We had bay windows in the living room and the tree had to be just right.

Dad found the tree he wanted and we put it in the trunk of a ’57 Chevrolet – it was a four door. I remember he tied the trunk lid down with some twine the guy at the tree lot gave him.

When we got home he stood in the yard and shook it up and down and slammed the trunk into the ground several times trying to dislodge loose needles.

Then the tree stood on the porch until the next evening. I think we wanted the branches to fall? I do not remember for sure.

The next evening Dad sawed the end of the trunk off and I got to crawl around under the tree in all the needles screwing the tree stand on. I remember it took us several tries to get it straight and not have it fall over as soon as he let go.

Then we put it in the bay windows and the whole family decorated it.

The lights were as big as fifteen watt bulbs of today with heavy cord twisted between them. They were very heavy. If a bulb burned out it did not matter. The others still worked. After the lights we started on the ornaments. I think we all had our favorites.

There is one thing that to this day still irritates me. Why do people remove the hooks from the ornaments? Why can’t the hooks just be left attached? I never understood that.

Then the icicles – I hated those things. I could never pull just one from the pack.

For the next two or three weeks I was responsible for watering the tree.

My least favorite thing was taking the tree out. Actually it was picking up the needles by hand to prevent the vacuum from getting screwed up.

In 1972 I left home – I did not have another tree until 1975 when I was married. In 1981 I was divorced and did not have a tree until 1995 or 1996 when my daughter insisted.

I have not had a tree in the last four years. The artificial tree I bought in 1999 left when I was divorced.

Each time I think about getting one I remember being on my hands and knees picking up all those damn needles. It is just not appealing.

That’s why I think Christmas Trees suck.

The JFK Assassination

I was 11 in 1963 and had just finished crosswalk duty at Washington Grade School.

It was a cold rainy day and I could not wait to get home and sit in front of the register to warm up.

A lady that lived near the crosswalk told me I should hurry home, the President had been shot.

She had teased me on other occasions but I could not understand why she would tease about this.

I ran home and know I talked to Mom but I do not remember the conversation.

I do remember many hours in front of the TV watching the news and the funeral. I think we got 2 or 3 days off from school.

I remember the horse without the rider and the backwards boots. The cadence which I was forever reminded of whenever a marching band kept the beat for marching betweens songs.

The horse drawn hearse and the salute from his son. Jackie O veiled in black holding her children’s hands.

I remember watching a guy get shot on live TV. Ruby shooting Oswald I think.

I remember during the first few hours thinking it had to be a joke or a weird movie but the longer it went on, the more real it got and the sadder it got.

I know we spent a lot of time at school discussing everything – I guess they would call it grief counseling – we talked about it for a long time and nothing was off limits.

I do not remember the conspiracy talk until much later.

I remember watching the moon landing and I remembered JFK’s speech about reaching the moon by the end of the decade I think were his words.

I think that speech was the first presidential speech I had ever heard. I still remember the chills up and down my spine at some of his words.

I sometimes wonder what the world would have been like had whoever missed 45 years ago.

Would Vietnam have turned out different? Would we have landed on the moon? Would the supposed perpetrators have been caught and the conspiracy exposed?

Who would have been the next president if JFK had lived? What other goals were being considered by JFK beside the moon trip?

I remember when one of the reports came out, maybe the Warren report, that there was no way a group would conspire to kill a president – the position was too protected.

I was young and naïve. And was just starting to learn American History beyond the civil war.

Now after living through Vietnam, Watergate, Reagan, Clinton, 9-11, the space shuttle and station – the Internet and social networks, I find that nothing surprises me and that the people of the world are capable of anything. Anything.

I wonder if the world made a big wrong turn the day JFK died or did it make any difference at all.

I doubt I will ever know.

Weather Memories

Looking out the frosted bathroom window I saw some flakes of something illuminated by my nightlight (the street light).

I assume it was snow flakes. I contemplated the wisp of flakes a bit and looked through my memories as has become my habit too many times during a normal day.

The first snow I remember is a record breaking storm in the sixties – can’t say early or late and am not inclined to look it up.

I just remember I was young but not too young to shovel snow.

The only problem was there was so much of it and I was not able to lift a shovel full if I let the shovel scrape the concrete. I had to insert the shovel about half-way down and take very small scoops.

No vehicles were able to navigate our street. I remember being out of school for a week and the school was less then a block away. I do not remember anything getting up or down our street until the end-loaders loaded the store into dump trucks.

I tried to walk to the park beside the school but was worn out fighting the wet snow after a half block.

I remember Dad walking to work – he was like that. I also seem to remember he refused or did not like to wear a hat. Might be false memory and not important. He would always bring home a few groceries each night even though the store had to be a few blocks out of his way.

I don’t remember another storm that bad until the last few years.

My next weather related memory was a tornado warning on the same street.

The air raid sirens were sounding and the rest of the family was in the basement. For whatever reason, Dad and I were on the front porch and saw a funnel cloud drop from the clouds several miles away.

It was a small funnel and slipped back up into the clouds in a few seconds but I always remember it whenever I hear the tornado warnings.

Next was the ice storm of 1977 or 1978. I had just starting working for the police department. We were on full alert in the garage but kept losing electricity. The department’s emergency generator would not start automatically so someone had to baby sit it 24-hours a say.

I remember dropping my wife and kids at her mother’s – it was warmer or they still had power – I don’t remember why.

But I do remember that on the drive back to the police station I drove down a tree lined street and it sounded like hail was destroying the car – failing ice. At one stop sign I had just pulled away and a branch the size of a bus fell blocking the street where I had just been.

Thirty seconds earlier and it would have landed on the car. I spent the few hours I was off at home – it was so cold – the furnace was kicking on but would shut off when the fan failed to start.

I was so cold that one night I slept in the car I was driving with the motor running waking up ever hour or so to go back in and run the water to prevent the pipes from freezing. Luckily we had a gas water heater that provided plenty of hot water but toweling dry sucked. Going out with wet hair was worse.

Two more memories – I was in Joliet repairing a computer and a tornado warning was issued but I did not hear it. I was deep inside a building that stopped the noise from the sirens.

When I went out to get a part from the truck, the sky was a deep dark green – very scary sky swirling in a circle – it was dead quiet except for the sound of the sirens.

I learned later the sky I saw was a debris cloud. Two or three blocks away the tornado had removed the roofs from five buildings but no remains were ever found. I think I saw them that night a few hundred feet above my head.

And the last was recent. The night two tornados touched down in town – one very close to Dad’s – he heard it while in the basement. At the same time he was in the basement, my son and I stood on my back porch and watched the clouds spin.

When the golf ball sized hail started pounding the roof and siding we both headed for the basement two stories below.

There used to be a real life old air raid siren in the back yard. It was replaced when the city upgraded the system after these tornados.

That night it was blaring but we could still hear the hail pound the house. I stole a look out a basement window. I could not see the neighboring house less then twenty feet away. Shortly after that the entire city lost power. The siren in the back yard was silenced.

The rain and hail were hellish but it did not end there.

A second wave of storms came through about 2 AM the next morning. My son and his family had gone to sleep downstairs. I laid down with a battery powered weather radio beside me.

It went off with the new tornado warning. I stumbled downstairs to wake them. It took several yells to get them awake and I went to my granddaughter’s room and had to shake her several times to get her moving.

We all stumbled downstairs and listened to the regular radio about people being trapped in a movie theater because of downed power lines or poles in all directions.

They were eating cold popcorn and drinking bottled water and were moving around using the lights from their cell phones.

Then the storm hit just as ferocious as the first. Since the power was off, the radio host suggested people go out and honk their car horns or call the neighbors and wake them.

During the worse part of the storm the power came back on. My grandkids were wide eyed and hanging on dad and mom tightly.

Then silence for about 30 seconds – we could hear my TV two stories above. The storm had passed but then we all got a scare. The air raid siren started back up and sounded for at least another twenty minutes.

We didn’t care – the weather radio gave the all clear and we all went to bed even though the siren was sounding.

I was still listening to the normal radio when the host said another wave was a few hours out. I was so tired but didn’t want to fall into a deep sleep in case the electricity went out.

I got up and watched the weather and listened to all the radio callers describe the damage and their experiences.

At 8 AM the last wave of weather came through – very mild thunderstorms. I finally went to bed when the cable TV went off air.

It had survived two tornados and hundreds of lightening strikes but it could not escape a utility worker cutting down broken poles and gathering the wires up.

The main feed was cut and took several hours to find and repair.

In fifty-six years that is the weather events I remember.

My Best Bicycle

The memory I have is probably from fifth or sixth grade to high school.

I had a Schwinn bike that had what looked like a gas tank where a motorcycle normally has one.

I remember it was red with white trim. Big fenders that curved or flared at the ends; lots of chrome; the chain guard was chromed.

It had a spring loaded book rack over the back fender. Lift one part, slide the books in and a spring held them in place.

The seat was giant and was really comfy for long rides. It sat on two chrome springs that looked like pine cones. For some reason I remember a chrome trim piece along the bottom of the seat.

The tires were white walled – very wide and had special inner tubes designed to prevent leaks. I think I only fixed one flat in all the years I rode it. I was so proud of the size – 26 inch I think – a grownups bike.

I remember ‘borrowing’ the chrome caps off the valve stems at a local car lot because they looked so cool on my bike.

I also remember buying some streamers to put in the end of the handle grips. For some reason I remember white handle grips with sparkles in them. They had cushy pads on top for comfort. The streamers were red and did not last very long.

I could jump that bike up on the highest curbs and do a sliding stop (ride fast, put my left leg near the ground then jam on the brake with my right foot and ‘lean’ towards the ground.

The back tire would leave a black mark and if done correctly my left knee would almost touch the ground as I was sliding but I would end up sitting on the bike upright at a full stop and a full 180 degree opposite of my approach direction.

I was good at them. But my favorite trick was a daredevil stunt that I practiced and practiced and practiced. I never once crashed.

Our street was sort of a dead end. To the east it ended in a T at the park. It continued on the other side of the park, four or five blocks away. From this T to the west our street ran downhill – not very steep but enough you could build up some speed coasting.

The ‘north-south’ T street actually ran down hill in both directions. We were just about the high point.

I would ride on the T street from the south towards our street. I could get going very fast on the 26 inch tires.

Four houses from our street I let go of the handlebars and rode no-handed (is that right?) and turned the bike around the corner and coasted faster and faster to our driveway where I would stop and calmly put my foot on the ground.

I never touched the handle bars (unless I didn’t make a good turn). I had curb feelers (look them up) on both the front and back fenders.

If the front feeler touched the curb on the right hand side of the street I was not going to make it and I would turn the trick into a slide to try again. If the rear feeler touched I was perfect.

As I got braver I would ‘turn’ into a double wide drive and go up on the sidewalk then turn back out to the street at the next double wide and stop right in front of our house putting my right foot on the curb AFTER I stopped.

I thought I was so cool – I wonder how stupid I looked practicing this over and over and over with my arms crossed and sometimes wiggling the front of the bike so bad it looked like there was NO way I could control it.

That bike always pulled to the right when I rode it no-handed on a flat street.

I remember not wanting to ride it anymore because it looked childish in my eyes. I was a ‘cool’ kid and had to walk every where until I got my driver’s license. Still had to walk because we only had one car.

That reminds me – my first car.

Random Memories - Interracial Neighborhoods

I am sure you know I spent years five to eighteen in a mainly Catholic old well maintained neighbor hood.

Our house was three from the corner of the street that divided our neighborhood from ghetto. Three or four blocks farther were the railroad tracks that marked the other end of the ghetto.

I walked almost everywhere but I only walked through the ghetto when absolutely necessary. This white boy got many a threatening look and was confronted several times.

Never got my ass kicked but I think that was because I was a pretty big boy and had lots of big friends. My first memory was a kid at school that lived two blocks down called me a whitey living in the ghetto.

My ‘big’ friends corrected him without touching him. Me and that kid became good friends. He later went to the majors and played for my beloved Cubs. His sister became a very good teacher. They were the lucky ones.

My most memorable racial situation was after a football game one evening.

The football field was four blocks in the opposite direction as the ghetto. Between us and the field were one block of houses and three blocks of park, most of it open. I learned lots in that park –sports - tennis, baseball, football and basketball – to how to open a bra with one hand.

This particular night my younger brother and myself were walking home from a high school football game through the darkness of the park.

A group of black kids from the ghetto were walking near the middle of the park. When they saw us they gave chase. We made it to the street light at the edge of the park and one of the ghetto kids told the rest of them to leave us alone – we were good people.

The kid that probably saved us from a beating was the biggest, meanest, stupidest kid in school. My brothers can supply a name with the initials A.H. or the fact his nickname started with a S.

Once the rest of them saw us in the light many said hello and let us go on our way. I have never been more afraid in my life except maybe the first time I held my daughter.

Our ‘friend’ protected us every time a racial issue came up – and there were many – it was the late sixties – I saw him once when I was in my mid twenties. I was over visiting a friend and ran in to him at a grocery store.

He shook my hand, we traded stories – me not married and a mechanic and him working at the foundry with six kids. He was driving a nice Cadillac and I was in an old convertible whose roof leaked but had a great motor.

I once drove into the south side of Chicago to fix a computer. For several blocks I did not see a white person. When I stopped, pulled out my took kit and set my alarm everyone was quiet and probably deciding how to rob me.

I walked to the door of the building and someone said we can’t mess with him he’s here to help us.

When I came out there was a big black guy sitting on the bumper of my van. I ignored him, put my took kit away, climbed in behind the wheel and cranked the van.

He looked at me and I raised my hands in a WTF gesture. He shook his head, laughed and got up waving goodbye.

But he held up his hand and asked if I had a smoke – I gave him the last four or five in my current pack and he told everyone else that I even smoked their brand of cigarette, Kools.

He handed me one back and lit it for me telling me the white part of town was a long way away. I waved and drove very carefully to the white part of town.

I was wishing my friend from high school was with me but it dawned on me later that one of his friends must have helped me – two hundred miles away.

My First Bailout

I remember my first bailout – I was at a Boy Scout camp and tipped the canoe over. I was scared to death of the water at the time but had a life jacket.

I got the canoe righted and somehow managed to get back in. I used my hat to bail it out and started paddling. I tipped it again except this time my life jacket strap broke when I tried to put the paddle under them to hold it to my chest.

I was in twelve feet of death but I learned that I could float on my back with my mouth and nose right above the water.

The lifeguard started to come after me but noticed I would kick every so often. I thought it was pretty cool.

I had to upright the canoe four times that morning. The last time was four feet from the dock.

To earn my merit badge I had to dock the canoe. I was so tired I floated for a while. The lifeguard and I held a conversation for about fifteen minutes while I floated near the dock.

Once I safely docked he tried but could not float for more then 2 or 3 minutes before he neck got tired.

I can still do it to this day. After my heart attack I went to two therapy sessions – the first was walking – no big deal.

The second was water exercise. I had an asthma attack and could not stand. I went to my back and floated. After ten minutes I was able to use my hands and make it to the side.

No one came to help me just told me to get back on my feet. I never went back but at least I know I can still float on my back.

The worse bailout, besides the one the congress is trying to put together, was the time your mother decided to tie my jet boat to the dock in rough water while I went to get the trailer.

She tied the boat to the dock but only gave it about a foot of spare rope. When I got back with the trailer, my beautiful jet boat was floating just under the water completely filled with water.

I still miss that boat.

My First Kiss

I was in junior high I am sure it was the seventh grade. There was a cute brunette that I had a crush on. She liked talking to me she said and once we took a walk when school got out at noon and she held my hand all the way to the lake, about five miles away.

But first we stopped at her house so she could change into nicer clothes. Our first date was impromptu. As with most homes, nobody inside when parents were not home so I sat on the porch steps.

Her mother came home and invited me in. Her daughter heard her mom’s voice and came running in before her top was all the way on. I saw boobies – briefly. She was very embarrassed and her mother cautioned her to be careful.

We walked to the lake, had lunch, took a boat ride with a friend of mine then walked through the woods on the way back home.

We stopped at a bench and talked and she asked if they looked ok. I ask what and she said her knockers (this was many years ago).

I said I barely saw them so she pulled up her top. WOW! I told her they looked great, especially in that top. She turned the top inside out and showed me the falsies her mother had sewn in. They added about three cups sizes.

But they still looked good for my first real set. Then she surprised me and said show me yours. I told her she had not shown me all of hers so she stood up, pulled her panties off and handed them to me and then sat down, spread her legs, took a deep breath and lifted her skirt.

I stood up and showed her mine before I lost my nerve. She leaned forwarded, all of her assets in view and touched me.

It never dawned on me to touch her. You know what happened next and she asked if it always did that. I told her if I was looking at pictures and evidently, when I saw the real thing.

She giggled then said it was so soft as she rubbed me. I never touched her but did ask where it went. She spread her legs and pointed. It was so pretty. But I still never considered touching her.

Then we heard something and she quickly pulled her top and skirt down. I pulled my shorts up and handed her panties to her – she said hide them so I stuck them in my back pocket.

A couple of minutes later an older couple walked by and we all smiled and said hello.

After they were gone she told me that was exciting, grabbed my hand and we walked home talking about many things.

Two weeks later I got an invitation to her birthday party. There were at least twenty people there and she dragged me along to talk to everyone never letting go of my hand.

I liked it. Then we started playing games and the winners choose someone to go into a back room with them.

She picked me and that is when I got my first kiss. Then my second and third. The fourth through the hundredth were long, wet and exciting.

She told me I was the first to kiss and see her. I told her she was my first too.

Her parents came down to check on us and said the party ended in thirty minutes. We all danced except her and I danced in a dark hallway and kissed the entire time.

I was walking home and she asked to walk me as far as the store. We walked for a bit then she pulled me into a side yard that could not be seen from the street but still had plenty of light. She kissed me then lifted her top. She wondered if they had grown.

I told her a little. She kissed me then asked if I still liked them but before I could respond she said never mind and checked for herself.

She rubbed me and told me she could tell I liked that then we continued our walk to the story not saying a thing.

She put her arms around my neck and kissed me long and hard then pressed her pelvis against me and commented that I must really like to kiss her.

She moved her hand for another check and squeezed it. Then kissed me and told me sweet dreams.

And that was my first kiss. More about her later.

Peanut Butter Fudge and loose change

Getting back to why I start this blog. I am getting pretty good at typing and editing with the narrator.

Here is a memory and story.

I was older then 5 and probably younger then seven when me and my oldest brother came home from school. Many days Mom would have some kind of snack for us – I remember cookies and candy but the BEST snack was peanut butter fudge.

We each got a small piece and about twenty minutes later we got another one but no more – didn’t want to ruin our supper.

On this particular day Mom left the dish on a table in the living room. When it came time for the second piece Mom walked into the room and I was ‘caught’ moving a small piece under whatever was covering it so that I would not get stuck with it.

Mom swore I had eaten a piece and would not give me another. I was heart broken. I loved peanut butter fudge.

I didn’t get one after supper either. I was so hurt – I never mentioned this to anyone but I always tried to keep myself out of situations that might lead to other accusations but I guess it made me seem sneaky or guilty.

I also stayed away from snacks for a while – I didn’t want to be accused of stealing or lying.

I remember being envious because my siblings could do things and they were never accused of lying or stealing.

I got $10 for my birthday from someone – might have been my parents. I stashed it in a band-aid box in my room.

That box was my piggy bank – all the pennies, dimes, nickels, a few quarters and a ‘real’ silver dollar my grandpa gave me and the $10 bill.

One afternoon Mom had fudge sitting out and I got home first while she was out back hanging clothes on the line.

I got a drink and set at the end of the table nearest the fudge dish.

My brother and Mom came in at the same time and Mom noticed crumbs on the table in front of me.

They were not mine but I didn’t get any fudge, again. I remembered a few days back that I wanted a candy bar at the dime store. Dad asked if I had any money with me. No, it was all in my box back home.

I didn’t get the candy bar but I did have $10 in my box upstairs and I wanted a snack.

So I got my $10 and walked the three blocks to the dime store. And I bought a great big candy bar that had chocolate covered peanut butter and maybe caramel. I think it cost a nickel. I am not sure if what the name was.

It was better then any damn cookie and almost as good as peanut butter fudge.

I hated using change to pay for things. Over the next few days I turned that $10 into 8 or 9 dollars of change. It filled the band-aid box.

I would gather a dollar in change, go to a local market and change it to a dollar then walk to the dime store to get my candy bar.

Why didn’t I buy the candy bar at the market? I was afraid someone would see me I guess. I really don’t know, it just seemed I could not do both tasks in one place; getting paper money and buying a candy bar with it getting 95 cents back in change.

Things kids do.

Kids my ass, I continued this practice for years. One day I emptied the glove box and center console of the old piece of shit I drove and had over a hundred dollars in change. I also turned in all the jars of coins I had to the bank. They called me four days later to tell me my money was ready.

$700+ in change over just a few years. Right now I have a cool whip plastic container full of change – mostly pennies and nickels – my son has stolen most of the others.

Why am/was I this way?

I remember being with my grandpa when he was buying some smokes and beer and he was counting out pennies and nickels to pay for them.

The people behind us in line were not nice and made comments and gave us looks. The grocer told grandpa to bring the rest in later – he had too many people in line.

Someone snickered and someone else wanted credit too. Grandpa didn’t seem to care and I probably should not of either. He could not wait to get outside to get his cig lit and crack open a beer.

I think we were 3 doors from his apartment and we sat on a step for a bit while many of the people walked by shaking their heads or frowning. I was ashamed.

For many years I always paid with the largest bill I had and NEVER used loose change.

And I always made sure my check was partially made out or I had the cash out when I hit the checkout.

I hate people who stand watching the checker slide their purchases across the scanner and when the checker tells them the total they open their purse or feel their pants pocket looking for their money or checkbook acting surprised they have to pay.

What a waste of time.

So that’s how I developed my addiction to candy bars, addiction to hoarding change and making sure I did not get in compromising situations.