Christmas with Big Red
Her dad came to visit us in Vermont. It was our first winter there and he drove up from Boston while on a business trip. It was minus 4 and he wanted to go to Montreal for some Polish food. Drive three hours to another country in sub-zero temps for a few pierogis and a bowl of borscht? What the heck?
Yea, that was Dad.
He didn't plan on us leaving unprepared. He took her to a outdoorsy, sporting-goods store in Burlington and they came back with two of the finest down jackets money could buy. He probably spent eight hundred dollars on those two coats.
I named mine Big Red. It is the warmest thing on planet Earth. The astronauts could wear it on Pluto if there was an airtight helmet attachment on the collar. Well, if Pluto was actually a planet. Who decides this stuff anyway? [authors note: I wrote a stern letter in 2016 and they changed it back]
After thirty years, the thin, outer layer is now shredded and dirty. One outer sleeve is now gone, exposing the soft pale blue epidermis. In short, Big Red is an embarrassment to most of my family. But Christmas and Big Red are synonymous. Big Red symbolizes everything happy about the holidays to me.
It was while wearing Big Red that I was adopted into this family. It was while wearing Big Red that I shoveled a hundred tons of Colorado Christmas snow, while hot food and Irish Coffee were made for me inside by loving hands.
It was Big Red and I that got the Jetta stuck in that two feet of Coal Creek Canyon snow just after her water broke and she went into heavy labor. I had to change a battery in a blizzard while she was on her hands and knees in that trailer. Surrounded by a tribe of round headed kids who alternated; first watching her whinge and then back to the snow-day cartoons, she only looked up at them sitting on the back of the couch to catch her breath.
Meanwhile, I ran a quick uphill mile to fetch the four wheel drive stopping only to throw up. I fought the icy blast fumbling with finger numbing, kitchen drawer tools swapping the dead cell. Long story short, after a quick gas stop, we made it. Baby born, all growed up and all well.
We skied and sledded and skated with the kids. We went deep into the woods to cut Christmas trees, we warmed cold fingers together and took long walks in the middle of the night just to listen to the unique, quiet sound of falling snow. We drove downtown in ridiculous traffic for a box of hand made chocolates together because store bought just would not do. We rear-ended that old man in the porkpie hat together. He took one look at us, nodded and just got back in his car. We got that first Starbucks of the season together dozens of times. We rode with the windows down because we could. Like a mobile snow globe.
You don't toss a friend like Big Red. You hang on to him until he is taken from you. Even then, you never let go. Christmas isn't the same without him.
Merry Christmas Big Daddy. I miss you wicked awful.
He didn't plan on us leaving unprepared. He took her to a outdoorsy, sporting-goods store in Burlington and they came back with two of the finest down jackets money could buy. He probably spent eight hundred dollars on those two coats.
I named mine Big Red. It is the warmest thing on planet Earth. The astronauts could wear it on Pluto if there was an airtight helmet attachment on the collar. Well, if Pluto was actually a planet. Who decides this stuff anyway? [authors note: I wrote a stern letter in 2016 and they changed it back]
After thirty years, the thin, outer layer is now shredded and dirty. One outer sleeve is now gone, exposing the soft pale blue epidermis. In short, Big Red is an embarrassment to most of my family. But Christmas and Big Red are synonymous. Big Red symbolizes everything happy about the holidays to me.
It was while wearing Big Red that I was adopted into this family. It was while wearing Big Red that I shoveled a hundred tons of Colorado Christmas snow, while hot food and Irish Coffee were made for me inside by loving hands.
It was Big Red and I that got the Jetta stuck in that two feet of Coal Creek Canyon snow just after her water broke and she went into heavy labor. I had to change a battery in a blizzard while she was on her hands and knees in that trailer. Surrounded by a tribe of round headed kids who alternated; first watching her whinge and then back to the snow-day cartoons, she only looked up at them sitting on the back of the couch to catch her breath.
Meanwhile, I ran a quick uphill mile to fetch the four wheel drive stopping only to throw up. I fought the icy blast fumbling with finger numbing, kitchen drawer tools swapping the dead cell. Long story short, after a quick gas stop, we made it. Baby born, all growed up and all well.
We skied and sledded and skated with the kids. We went deep into the woods to cut Christmas trees, we warmed cold fingers together and took long walks in the middle of the night just to listen to the unique, quiet sound of falling snow. We drove downtown in ridiculous traffic for a box of hand made chocolates together because store bought just would not do. We rear-ended that old man in the porkpie hat together. He took one look at us, nodded and just got back in his car. We got that first Starbucks of the season together dozens of times. We rode with the windows down because we could. Like a mobile snow globe.
You don't toss a friend like Big Red. You hang on to him until he is taken from you. Even then, you never let go. Christmas isn't the same without him.
Merry Christmas Big Daddy. I miss you wicked awful.
Comments