With Christmas coming up, I started trying to remember my best holiday memory. I’d have to say my best was in December 1969 or 1970, I was three or four years old. How or why I still remember this I have no idea. My folks decided to take me to see Santa, but I was going through this, about, two-year freak-out when it came to costumes. I freaked out every time I saw a clown or Santa or anything like that.
As soon as I came to terms with costumes, I saw the Talking Tina episode of the Twilight Zone. I was right after all; these damn toys can kill you.
Anyway, my folks packed me up and took me to my grandfather’s Carpentry Union for my visit with Santa. Mom and dad thought I would be jazzed to find that my grandfather was the Santa Claus for this occasion. Everything was cool until I saw Santa; I spun on my heels and ran a good two blocks before anyone realized I was gone. As I rounded the first corner, I spotted a sign in front of a pizza joint, I don’t know what you call these signs – they look like upside down V’s. So, I tucked myself in-between the boards and stayed. I saw feet running past me, and people yelling my name, but I stayed hidden and silent for about twenty minutes. Santa, sorry fat man, you’ll have to find another kid to kill – I got you figured out.
As time went by I kept hearing my dad calling for me, and I started getting nervous. Would he be happy once he found me, or would he be pissed that I put him through all this shit? So, I sheepishly came out and announced, “Here I am.” Now, my father, like his father, and I was blessed with a fiery and sometimes insane temper. He was, in his own way happy to find me, but it was more like mumbling behind teeth that were gritting. He swooped me up and explained that Santa was my grandpa, that he was going to surprise me. I was not convinced.
We got back to the Union Hall, waited in line and when we got to “Santa,” my grandpa pulled his beard down and said: “It’s me, Mikey!” I was blown away, how did Santa pull my grandpa into this madness? Grandpa gave me a candy cane, and we went on our way.
My grandpa passed away in 1991, he was a funny guy. He hated everyone except for my brother and me – and of course his wife, my wonderful grandmother.
Once he and my grandmother got too old to live alone they moved in with my aunt. Anyway, my brother and I came by for a visit one weekend and we walked in through the back door, my grandfather didn’t see us. Just as we’re walking into the living room where my grandpa is, our younger cousin Tommy (named after my father) walked up to my grandfather and asked if he would like some water, he’d get it for him. My grandfather, not missing a beat, started swinging his cane and yelled: “Get out of my way you fat fuck!” My brother and I just looked at each other and shook our heads. We went into the living room and asked our grandfather if everything was “OK in here?” And he turned to us and said: “Could you get me some water, they won’t do shit for me here?” For my British readers, my grandfather was a senior citizen version of Lenny McLean. Have a great Holiday!
– Last One To Die, 2011