Yesterday at work, some of us were talking about Christmas ... well, me and a couple of the younger gals were talking about it. I asked them what their favorite toy was that they got when they were little kids and neither of them could remember. I found that so interesting since they are both significantly younger than me, and yet I can remember exactly what my favorite toy was as well as the Christmas I received it. And even more interesting is that I can remember that event so vividly in light of the post I wrote yesterday about how many things I forget now. But back to my favorite toy ... it was a Snoopy snow cone maker, and it was awesome. It was black and white ... duh, like Snoopy ... you put ice in it and cranked the handle on the back, and it spit out crushed ice which you then covered with sugary colored syrup. It ... was ... awesome. Funny, I also received a portable black and white television that year (which, for all my younger readers, was a really big deal back then), but it was the snow cone maker that I loved ... the snow cone maker that probably cost less than $10 while the television cost way more.
We always opened our gifts on Christmas Eve, after we would gather for a big meal together. I remember how Mom and Dad would cook and clean all day, and now that I have children of my own, I know that day was one of much anticipation and great joy for them ... to have all four of their children and grandchildren (six at the time) all together under their roof. My sister and brothers, as I've mentioned before in this blog, were a great deal older than me, so by the time I was 10 years old (the year of the Snoopy snow cone maker), they were all married and each of them had two children of their own. We would eat dinner upstairs in the kitchen and living room, and then we would all move downstairs to the finished basement when it was time to open gifts. With all the little kids in the mix, it was always loud and chaotic and fun. Daddy would read the Christmas story and pray, and then my sister would distribute the gifts. There was no opening one gift at a time and everyone oohing and ahhing over what someone got ... it was utter chaos of paper ripping, kids squealing and adults laughing. It ... was ... fun.
Just like my dad had "his" chair ... a worn, black leather recliner ... my oldest brother Jerry had a spot where he sat during the gift-opening madness. Jerry always sat in the crook of the stairs that led from the top of the house to the finished basement ... he sat there every year on the red carpeted stairs, his vantage point for observing all of the Christmas madness. And every year, after all the gifts were opened, I would hear him say, "Little Bit ... come show me what you got." I would gather up my loot and climb up into Jerry's lap, and he would smile and laugh as I chattered away about my gifts. I adored my oldest brother ... adored him ... and I can close my eyes even now and see him throw his head back and laugh as I said, "Let's go make snow cones, Jerry, please, please, please ... let's go make snow cones." You see, Jerry and his wife Charlotte gave me that awesome Snoopy snow cone maker, and it tickled Jerry to see how excited I was about their gift to me. Later in the evening, Jerry lifted me up to sit on the kitchen counter and we made snow cones for all the little kids. I remember that night as if it were yesterday, the twinkle in Jerry's eyes, the joy in his heart, the patience of his spirit ... a night filled with love and fun and laughter and snow cones.
Perhaps part of the reason I remember that particular Christmas Eve and my Snoopy snow cone maker so well is because a little over two weeks later, my brother Jerry was involved in a car accident and died later that evening. I will never forget that night either ... the night that my brother died. I will never forget his last words to me on the phone that day ... "Get dressed, Little Bit, and I'll be there to get you at 6 to go to the game. Love you, Little Bit ... love you a great big old bunch." That phone conversation was at four o'clock, and by 10 o'clock that evening, my big brother was gone. Maybe it's because Christmas is coming, maybe it's because of my melancholy soul, but I've had Jerry on my mind a lot recently. On December 14th, he would have been 72 years old ... he would have been 72. I've missed him over the years, but this year is different somehow. This year, I find myself wishing that I could have one more Christmas with Jerry ... with Mom and Dad ... in the old basement with the red carpet ... with Jerry sitting in the crook of the stairs, calling me Little Bit, wiping away my tears, letting me tell him what's on my mind and in my heart, loving me in spite of all my faults and fears. I miss him ... I miss my brother and who he was and how he loved me ... how he loved me a great big old bunch.
I wonder ... I wonder if they still make Snoopy snow cone makers ...
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