I have a lot of mixed feelings as Christmas approaches. I like Christmas, but some days all I seem to conjure up is a rather warped reflection of memories superimposed over a thin layer of hope that smells a little bit like a fresh litter box.
Today is the 17th and should be a happy day because it's a Friday, and marks the start of the last weekend before Christmas really hits in all its glory. Back in 1973 though it was a Monday and I was ten years old. Mom and Dad had been fighting the night before (which wasn't exactly news, as they didn't hide it from us kids that's for sure) and that morning Dad left for good ... although at the time I was told he was going on a business trip. He gave Curtis a kiss and them he mussed my hair, squatted down on his haunches and whispered in my ear that I was the man of the house now and to look after baby Curt.
He gave my hair a last ruffle then he got in his old truck and drove off. Three guesses as to what kind of truck it was.
Mom who was always tightly wound and a cracker short for a cheese plate was never the same. I'm not sure where this is going, or why I'm bringing this up. This is supposed to be cathartic or something, who knows maybe it is.
Anyway that day I went to school, and came home to was an empty house. No big deal, I had a key and it was after all the 70s. We invented the term latchkey kid. I remember watching TV, although I can't remember what I watched. Chances are it was Gunsmoke or H.R. Pufnstuf. We didn't have a lot of choice, and as far as Pufnstuf goes but me a break, I also watched The Banana Splits.
Anyways the time dragged on and I started getting hungry, and still no Mom. After a while I figured I'd make myself a hot dog. Mom always had a package of wieners in the fridge. We were allowed to eat them raw if we wanted. After all it was the 70s. However, I wanted a boiled hot dog, so I put on some water. After a few minutes it was boiling, and as I went to take the lid off, I burned my fingers on the steam, and when I pulled my hand back I caught the handle of the pot that was sticking out over the edge of the stove.
You can kind of figure out what happened next. In hindsight I was pretty lucky. I made more of a mess than anything, but I scared myself silly. Of course timing being everything, this was the moment Mom decided to walk through the door. There I was standing in the kitchen bawling my eyes out with water all over the floor, some on me, a wiener in one hand and pot lid in the other.
There's one thing Mom's the world over have in common. They cover ground in a hurry when they want to. Little Curtis was standing there, eyes like two saucers and he was holding on to an over sized candy cane. Mom rushed over and I put my arms out in the universal "pick me up and cuddle me" gesture. What she did was grab me, bend me over and spank me - with what would have been my candy cane.
Of course later she was sorry, but at that moment I was as scared as I'd ever been. The grown up in me kind of understands why she snapped after years of trying to hold things together and provide for us (in her own way), but the ten year old in me has never forgotten or forgiven her.
So today for dinner, as it's been every December 17 since I moved out on my own, I had hot dogs for dinner. It mark's the the day I became a man.
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