A Christmas kiss to remember…

Excerpt from Bro. Dick - a remembrance

 

Winter vacation was one of my favorite times of the year. Two full weeks with no school, lots of basketball to be played, and the holiday season in full swing. It was always a special time at our house in Vallejo. My mom would be baking up a storm in the kitchen, making fruitcakes to send to all of our relatives. The house would be filled with the aroma of baking apples and walnuts and candied fruit and spices. I’m sure there were cousins out there who had a small stack of fruitcakes from years past, reluctant to throw them out, and even more reluctant to eat them. Fruitcake is an acquired taste. I, for one, loved my mother’s fruitcake, especially when it was still warm from the oven. No wonder I was a chubby little kid.

The smell of a fresh juicy orange is another thing I associate with winter vacation. Every year, a rancher from the Napa Valley would call and take our order for tree ripened navel oranges, which he would deliver by the case. I’ve never tasted better oranges. We’d go through a case in nothing flat, most of them consumed by me.

Then of course, there was my dad and his homemade Tom ‘n Jerrys. He’d whip up a batch or two during the holidays and fill the kitchen with the smell of cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg, not to mention the rum and brandy. It’s a strange thing, but every time I get a whiff of those spices, I’m suddenly a kid again, back in the old house on Russell Street. I still have my dad’s special Tom ‘n Jerry mugs. And I still remember the recipe!

One winter vacation—I think I was about fourteen—I was coming home from playing basketball with my friends and I noticed my mom’s car was gone. My bedroom had been added on to the house and I had my own private door off the patio in back. As I went around past the garage to let myself in, I heard my dog George prancing and whining, anxious to be let into the warm house from the cold garage. I let myself in, tossed my jacket on the bed and went to see who was at home. As I entered the living room, there was my brother, stretched out on the couch, a pillow tucked under his head, sound asleep. The lights of the Christmas tree were on, and he was thoroughly enjoying a cozy afternoon nap. I knew right away what I had to do.

I went through the kitchen, opened the door to the garage and let George in. I quickly removed his collar so that his license tags wouldn’t jingle and wake my brother. Then I led George into the living room and pointed to Bro. Dick. George was so happy to see him! He went into a full-body wag and trotted over to the couch where he promptly stuck his ice-cold nose in Dick’s face and gave him a big slurpy kiss.

I swear my brother elevated three feet off the couch and let fly a stream of expletives that sent George running for cover. Then Dick saw me standing there, laughing so hard I nearly wet my pants. Now the expletives were flying at me, which only made me laugh harder. After a minute or so, Dick was laughing just as hard as I was. It took George a little longer to recover.

Winter vacation was always special—the sights, the sounds, the smells—but this was one I’ll never forget. It is a wonderful gift when you can laugh at yourself. My brother had that gift in spades.

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