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The end-of-year holiday season holds many memories for me; all pleasant in one way or another. Two that immediately come to mind are the birth of our grandson on December 29, and the death of my father on December 28. Dad's passing was bittersweet, but pleasant in that he led a full life and went out with a smile on his face. But there is another memory that is, well, different. It occurred many years ago... It was December of my senior year in college a week before Christmas. Classes had concluded for the fall term. Bruce and I both resided at the Sigma Mu Sigma house, and shared the same hometown. Since Bruce had a car, I hooked a ride home for the holidays. My brothers, Jim and Thom, both home from high school, greeted me when Bruce dropped me off. Snow was on the ground with more falling. The atmosphere was festive and sanguine. Thom mentioned my girlfriend, Jean, had called, which put a bit of a damper on my cheerful mood because I knew it was going to be one of those we-need-to-talk conversations we men fear so much. Jean, a bubbly, free-spirit in the mold of Holly Golightly, attended the local college, and lived at home with her siblings and father; the mother had died. I figured (correctly) that this would be the last Christmas and New Years Eve we would spend as a couple. Romance, which always seems so fulfilling during the yearend holidays, was dying a natural but inevitable death. We'd been dating since my senior year in high school, and the relationship had run its course. Still, the experience had been overwhelmingly positive. There wasn't any one thing, but rather an accumulation of many minor things---normal wear-and-tear. We developed different worldviews and goals. In retrospect I must admit hers were more realistic than mine. That is, she wanted to let the relationship cool, and after my graduation the following June, go our separate ways; me to the humdrum world-of-work and her to seek excitement flying the friendly skies as a flight attendant. Even then I knew she was right, but was reluctant to let go; thought somehow I had failed, and it has always been difficult for me to admit failure. Of course, that was pure nonsense. Nobody failed; the natural order of the universe simply prevailed. She desired to date others, and (get this) I had been seeing others on-the-sly for a year! She suppressed her natural desire while I expressed mine through infidelity. With decades of the human experience now behind me, I can accurately state that it was the fact that she brought it up first that bugged me. Good old male ego...we'd rather be the dump-er than the dump-ee. She beat me to the punch. My philandering ways would have doomed the relationship anyway. Jean and I decided not to see each other Christmas Eve and Christmas day, but rather devote the time to our families. I was relieved and suspected she was as well. We were still on for New Years Eve. Nevertheless, when Christmas Eve rolled around, I wanted to spend part of the evening at Adolph's, the main watering hole in town, and catch up with old friends; maybe find a new romance. Tradition held that my family would attend candlelight services at Zion's Lutheran Church, which commenced at 11:00 PM. I stepped out of the shower about 7:00 PM, slapped on some foo-foo after shave, donned suit and tie, and grabbed the keys for our "second" car. "See you in church!" I called out cheerfully and a bit sarcastically. "And just where are you going?" Mom gave me a very suspicious look. "Adolph's." "Just make sure you get to church on time," said Dad. He gave me one of those dad-looks that silently communicated you'd better comply if you knew what was good for you. "Not a minute late!" reinforced Mom. "I'll be there. Promise!" An afterthought: "Maybe I'll call up Dennis; see if he wants to go with me." Chances are my best buddy from high school would be at Adolph's anyway. I rang him up, but he had a family affair. Another pal, Bill Ruck, lived down the street, but he was busy as well. "See, normal people spend the evening with their families," said Mom trying to throw a guilt trip at me. "Hey, it's just a couple hours. I'll meet you at the church." And off to Adolph's I went. The place was jumping; full of old friends of both sexes. We started catching up and buying each other drinks, and I got...well...over-served, if you will. I ended up on the second floor in the Drum Room. A five-piece combo was playing dance music, and being completely uninhibited thanks to too many cocktails, I described my impending break-up with Jean to a number of females, two of whom I made-out with on the dance floor. After another drink (or two). I recalled a conversation I had earlier that day with Linda, a former high school classmate, who also attended the local college. She worked part time at the Hobby Den where I stopped in to buy gifts for my brothers. Linda was the prettiest and peppiest cheerleader in Northwest Ohio with a great personality, and had a new boyfriend every week; a man-eater of sorts. However, she didn't chew 'em up and spit 'em out; she was nice about it. She sweetly (but firmly) ran them off when they tried to get too close. Anyway, Linda said to come on by Christmas Eve for a drink. Remembering that invitation, I left Adolph's full of good cheer and weaved through the new fallen snow, laughing maniacally, until I reached her parents house of the north side. (By the way, I had NO designs on Linda; she was out of my league.) "Come on in!" she shouted when I rapped on the front door. Inside, she and two other ladies were sitting around a kitchen table with cocktails and laughing like hyenas. Ray Coniff music filled the air. I wasn't the only one over served. "Hey, how would you ladies like to accompany me to candlelight services?" I slurred after joining them for a drink. It was one of those "good" ideas you get after imbibing too much. In my fogged brain I could visualize the four of us traipsing into Zion's and improving the quality of the carols. "I don't think I can even stand; let alone walk," cackled Linda. The others collapsed with laughter as well. One of them said, "Yeah, last time Linda was at candlelight services at St. John's, she was in the choir, and, and... (hysterical laughter) she kept blowing out Nan's candle!" Everyone damn near fell out of their chairs, me included. I yakked it up with them for another drink or two then noticed the wall clock read 10:35. Uh-oh. Time to hit the road if I didn't want to arrive late. I had to wade through knee-deep snow to the car, but made it to Zion's unscathed and on-time. I reeled in the front entrance, tie and hair askew, and ran into Jim and Thom who, upon seeing me, started laughing. "Nice cartoon eyes," said Thom. "Good thing for you Mom and Dad are in the choir," said Jim. "The Hurricanes are appearing tonight?" I said with faux excitement. My brothers and I referred to the choir that way; you know, lots of wind, terrible sound. Our folks abhorred the comparison and chewed us out every time we made the reference, which is why we kept it going. Lighted candles marked the entrance to each pew. We entered one about halfway into the sanctuary. Remembering Linda, I blew out the candle. "What are you doing?" whispered Jim. I started singing, "Happy birthday to Jesus..." in a half-giggle. Thom cracked up. An usher relit the candle and gave me an irritated look. So did the people seated behind us. The processional hymn began, and the choir marched down the center aisle. "Hey look, guys," I said too loudly, "it's the Hurricanes!" "With Mary Ruess on organ," whispered Thom. I repeated it out loud. "Featuring Cyclone Smith!" whispered Jim. All three of us were tearing up with hmmf, hmmf, hmmf giggling trying to maintain some decorum, but failing. Ed Smith was a basso profundo who sang over the top of the rest of the Hurricanes. When the hymn ended and the choir was seated, I said to Jim and Thom in an excited, up-tempo radio announcer voice, "That was Mary Ruess and the Hurricanes featuring Cyclone Smith! The time is eleven-oh-six and we're looking for a Northwest Ohio low tonight of nineteen frigid degrees. Bundle up out there. It's going to be cold! And now here's Fats Domino..." My brothers decided to imitate (poorly) Lawrence Welk. "That vas a nice-uh number," said Jim. "A real-uh toe-uh tapper," said Thom. More giggling resulted in killer looks from those seated ahead of us. "Hope Mom and Dad can't see us," said Jim. The service was a fifty-fifty mixture of carols and readings with a boring homily thrown in at the end. I sang the carols in my loudest voice, off-key, with a whiskey tenor harmony. I thought I sounded great, but learned later from my brothers that it was gosh-awful; the absolute worst in the entire history of congregational singing. However, that did not keep them from egging me on and laughing. Oh well, that's entertainment. In fact, during THE FIRST NOEL I tried to imitate Georgie Jessel, and thought my brothers were going to pee their pants. It's a wonder we weren't 86ed from church. The recessional hymn was SILENT NIGHT. The house lights were turned off, the only illumination coming from the candles in the sancturary plus those held by each of us in the congregation. The Hurricanes marched back down the aisle. If our parents were hep to any of our shenanigans they gave no clue as they passed by. They simply smiled at the solemn, singing faces of their angelic three sons. Whew! The Hurricanes sang, WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS, from the back of the church, and we were dismissed, everyone smiling, hugging, and shaking hands. I knew what I was getting for Christmas. A hangover. Copyright 2010 by Gene Myers. Author of SONGS FROM LATTYS GROVE (2010) from PublishAmerica, Baltimore, MD and AFTER HOURS: ADVENTURES OF AN INTERNATIONAL BUSINESSMAN (2009) from Strategic Publishing, New York, NY. Both now available from Amazon Kindle
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