A Christmas Memory

[Momatt]

Just reminiscing today a little.

I think I must have been about 10 years old that Christmas and I was very jealous.  You see under the tree that year was a long skinny and heavy package, and the tag had my brother Drew's name on it.  I knew that he had asked for a shotgun that year, and Dad had not immediately dismissed the idea.  Back in October, when I had first become aware of this possibility, I was supportive of the idea.  I guess it meant someday maybe I too would be in a position to be given such a gift.  Yes, this was a fine idea indeed I had decided.  But as the days slipped by and Christmas approached I had changed my mind.  Older brother was insufferable, already possessing a fancy pellet rifle, having sold his old pump up BB-gun to me for the princely sum of $10.  Even worse, he had received a Remington Targetmaster .22 rifle on his previous birthday.  Apparently, it was an accurate and rare treasure, and he like to remind me of this often as he ran his hands over its fancy red wood stock when we were supposed to be cleaning our shared room.  And now, he is getting a shotgun I asked myself?  This is too much too bear.  Mom and Dad didn't have much money in those days, and I assumed that he would be gifted a single shot Harrington and Richardson from Angelo's Sporting goods.  I knew the price tag well, they were $65 and I'd often ride my bike there to look at them on Saturdays during trapping season.  Angelo's parking lot was where the fur buyer would come on Saturday mornings.  If I had caught anything that week, I'd put it in the paper bag laced through the handlebars of my bike and peddle there.  Rough men stood in a circle spitting and smoking and watched what the buyer offered for each other's fur.  These guys didn't just have muskrats, they had coon, beaver, bobcat, coyote, fox and mink.  The "big game" of the trapline that kid's never caught, though we read about the sets in the school's library copy of Fur Fish and Game.  When it was my turn I'd proudly dump my muskrat onto the asphalt, possibly working in a cuss so as to better fit in.  The buyer would rub his fingers up the fur and say $3 without looking up.  The men would say, "sum bitch Groenwalds", give the kid $3.50.  Inevitably, the buyer would say "I don't pay $3.50 for rats."  I'd go inside to warm up and look in the minnow tanks, look longingly at the guns, now only $62 dollars short for the H&R with the impressive looking check for $3 in my pocket (well after cashing it at Belletini's across town I would be).  Come Christmas morning, Drew opened up his shotgun and it was no H&R.  In fact, it was a Mossberg pump action 20 Gauge.  Worse still, apparently Mr. Cripe over at Ace Hardware had ordered the wrong one, the fancy engraved one, and had let Dad have it for the plain price.  After the wrapping paper had been cleaned up and Mom's Christmas casserole eaten we headed out for a Christmas hunt as was our custom.  I had Grandpa's 410 single shot, which only a week before I'd considered one of mankind's greatest achievements in design, but now it felt as sleek as a pilgrim's blunderbuss musket.  Even though I made a fine shot on a running rabbit down below Jay's trailer, it did little to brighten my mood, even when dad sad "nice shot" in a tone normally reserved for addressing other men of whom he approved.  Jays was only about 20-acres and it didn't take long to get all the rabbits out of the brush piles we were going to get, even after slightly expanding Jay's land by trespassing into Moret's sand pit and ever so slightly encroaching onto Forscythe Woods forest preserve.  There was a final strip of grass brother walked out before we left, and as if this day could get no worse, the only cock pheasant in Will County Illinois suddenly exploded from under my brother's feet and it was soon somersaulting towards the earth caught in the tight pattern of 6s from that brand new gun.

[WV Sawmiller]

   Pretty cool write up. Thanks for sharing.

   My Christmas memories included trips to my grandparents in Dixie County Fla at a place called Old Town. We would go squirrel hunting or put out catfish lines and such. I remember one Christmas, probably 1965 or 66 because we were driving a Chevy II which came out in 1962 and my older brother was driving. He was born in 1950 so probably had his learner's permit. We had been fishing and had a stringer full of big channel and blue catfish in the trunk. We were driving on a limestone rock road with a canal to the right side when he had a blowout and swerved into the canal. The car floated close to the bank and I crawled out a window. Brother and Dad climbed into the back seat and the car floated till he opened the door then it sank quickly. I remember the water was up to Dad's nose as he came out. The car sank except for the trunk which had a pocket of air. They found somebody with a log skidder to pull it out, drained and replaced the oil, drove it the gas station and changed it again. It had a standard 3 speed on the column and for some reason they could only get it to shift from reverse to second (Upper half of the H on the column) or 1st & 3rd (Low & High) so they left it there and we drove 300 miles home making sure to pull into places we could circle out and wound it up and skipped second gear. When we got home Dad sold the car pretty quickly.

    Either the year before or the year before that on Christmas Day we were at Grandpa's again and a young wild boar hog got in the yard and the dog chased it under Grandpa's house which was the high water mark of the Suwannee River having been jacked up 3 times in the past. I went out to look at him and squatted down to see and the hog charged and cut me twice across the right knee the the boxer/shepherd cross jumped on him and he cut the dog's front leg to the bone. I hobbled away while the hog was thus occupied and Grandpa rounded the corned with his shotgun. The hog broke free and Grandpa raised the gun, shot and lowered in one motion. The hog flipped end over end and landed on his back graveyard dead. Grandpa looked at his gun with a confused expression. Turned out Grandpa just meant to chase him off and shoot him with the wad so he cut the shell open and poured out the shot but accidentally left a pellet in there and he hit it right in the heart behind the right front leg. They loaded me up and drove over towards Gainesville looking for the doctor who we found at his home. Turns out he was having a Christmas party and was about drunk. He looked it over and they bent me over the hood of the car in front everybody, pulled my britches down, and his more sober nurse gave me a tetanus shot steri-stripped the cuts shut.

    Some Christmas' are just more memorable than others.

[samandothers]

Great stories guys!  Thanks for sharing.

[thecfarm]

 I remember poing to my Grand Mother's house. :  ;D