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12/21/2005: "-- - - - - almost a christmas story - - - - - - - -"

DECEMBER LAST WEEK


We gathered.
with all the kids.
And then after the birthday party, we were going to pile the kids in brad’s street ready golf cart with the dump truck payload. He had trimmed it out with a stream of Christmas lights, but the converter was on the blink. It wouldn’t twink.
This was a problem. The intention was to parade crash the “parade of lights” Christmas pageant held down here up on stone avenue.

It looked like a no go.

We ambled up the street instead with all the kids hoofing it.
Rainer’s, mine, brad’s and convertino’s kids. Others too.
A happy horde.

We got up to where the parade was parading down the policed off one way street going down the wrong way like it was the right way after all.

Near the end of it, brad showed up with the dark golf cart.
He had taken all the failed lights off. Dang.
Brad used to go by the name of thermos and played junk yard drums in doo rag way back when.

So. He had that look in his eye to crash the parade anyway even without the affording blend of christmas twinklings.

So he did. I road shotgun. Piled all the kids in the payload, and we skipped off. Brad handled that thing like it was a third arm. Stealth like we zipped. Found a break in the police line, and then poked right through their barrier.

The parade had just ended a few hundred yards ago now, so we had some catching up to do. When we would get too near the cops, we just get the kids in back to sing louder:
“we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry christmas…..” . had about a dozen back maybe.

We caught up with the soldiers first there at the end of the parade line. Then getting around the firemen was tricky; the hook and later truck was like a beast with two brains, one in each end. Then we caught up with the city street cleaner all adorned in lights. I think we confused them the most. Sing louder kids. Everything was adorned in lights except us. Johnny Gibson’s ride. The mayor’s. all the cops looking at us like we must know what we were doing. We were just passing through. It was a hoot to go parade bustin’ with old brad.

I wish the kids will ever know how much fun they really had.

Somewhere up there in the future it will hit them.
They’ll be gathered at a local bar or bar-b-q in the future. One of them will say something about somebody’s parents. The ups. The downs. And then they’ll reminisce some, until it darns on them that what the hell were they doing in a parade way back then anyway ?

That old thermos.
A fine saint nick.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -
HAVE A HAPPY CHRISTMAS