Christmas doesn’t come from a store, maybe Christmas means a little bit more.
I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle!
You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.
Fra-gee-lay. Must be Italian.
In the heat of battle, my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that, as far as we know, is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.
You’ll shoot your eye out, kid. Merry Christmas. Ho, ho, ho.
Only one thing in the world could’ve dragged me away from the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window.
There were only two things that truly fascinated me: the Old Man’s winning entry, and the feeling of being underpants-less for the first time.
Aunt Clara had for years labored under the delusion that I was not only perpetually 4 years old, but also a girl.
Deck the harrs with boughs of horry.
Come on, up, up, up. Pull up! There’s, there’s dying going on up here. Get some others up here.
It was a fantastic award. It was a major award.
It was soap poisoning.
It’s a clinker!
My mother had not had a hot meal for herself in 15 years.
Frappe.
My mother was trying to insinuate herself back into the line with us when she was caught.
He had yellow eyes! So, help me, God! Yellow eyes!
Now, I had heard that word at least 10 times a day from my old man. He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium.
Those turkey giblets had goosed his gander, but good.
The heavenly aroma still hung in the house. But it was gone, all gone! No turkey! No turkey sandwiches! No turkey salad! No turkey gravy! Turkey Hash! Turkey a la King! Or gallons of turkey soup! Gone, all gone!
All I want is my two front teeth.
I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle!
Every family has a kid who won’t eat. My kid brother had not eaten voluntarily in over three years.
I’ll get that kid to eat. Where do you think you’re going? Daddy’s gonna kill Ralphie!
Over the years I got to be quite a connoisseur of soap. Though my personal preference was for Lux, I found that Palmolive had a nice, piquant after-dinner flavor. Head and Shoulders made you feel fresh and alive, kind of like after a visit to the Turkish bath.
In the decades to follow, my brother would develop his own unique obsession, but that’s getting ahead of our story.
No! No! I can’t put my arms down!
Well, art is art, but, uh, water crossing isn’t art, it’s just wet.
Over the years, I got to be quite a connoisseur of soap. Though my personal preference was for Lux.
I want that gun!
At least, then, I would’ve had some choice in the matter. Especially considering I was going to be wearing them for the next three years.
Oh no, it was always…some BB gun. ‘BB gun this’ and ‘BB gun that. ‘Wait until this year. We’ll really get the old man going. Wait until this year. ‘
It was a perfect centerpiece, until my kid brother had to go ruin it! He looks like a deranged Easter Bunny!
You pink nightmare!
The clinking sound made by sending a bullet home filled me with a sense of power.
Ho, ho, ho…It was the classic 1938 battle between humanity and the gods of metal.
Get those things out of your face.
No! No! I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle!
Oh, fu…cus!
I’m an idiot.
The anticipation of the moment had once again got the better of me.
I could feel the Christmas noose beginning to tighten.
In my fantasy, the entire block was amazed.
That stupid furnace. It was always an ordeal. I always pictured it…like a worn-out prizefighter.
I groggily imagined that I was encased in the ice palace of the revered Superhero, Aquaman.
It was at that exact moment that I realized I was never going to make it to my house.
I was drawn inexorably back to the frigid Manley Avenue gaggle.
It was getting dark and as far as I was concerned, I was never going to see another Christmas.
Sometimes I sat in my classroom before the final bell rang, calculating how many minutes stood between me and sweet freedom.
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