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Pissed On Christmas

 

If only he’d pissed on Christmas two years earlier, it might have helped to exstinguish the fire that spread to my bed and almost torched the back half of the trailer on lot 13 I called home. For that story and several more, you will have to wait for the book. Just know that growing up, the holiday season would always prove to be too much for my family, particularly Christmas break from school. With nowhere to go, each allotted very little space in the 720 square foot home, something was always bound to go awry before our return to a normal schedule in the new year.

Now my dad, and apparently my little brother who inherited the trait, would occasionally sleep walk back in the day. I share this particular true story from my childhood and my father’s sleepwalking adventures—

T’was a night following Christmas,

 

when all through the house,

 

 

only mama was stirring, waiting up on her spouse.

 

 

All the presents we received were organized with care;

 

 

tomorrow we’d sort, with no room to spare.

 

 

My brother was asleep on the bunk just below,

 

 

as I began dreaming of more winter snow.

 

 

Dad must have had his fill of beer on tap,

 

 

finally returning home for a long winter’s nap;

 

 

the tiny house fell silent without even a peep,

 

 

and so we were soon all fast asleep;

 

 

when out of the darkness there arose a strange splatter,

 

 

I sat up and strained to see what was the matter.

 

 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

 

 

but my father in the corner butt naked—oh dear!

 

 

Today the memory still burns like a flash,

 

 

my father standing in the corner, having pissed on our stash.

 

 

Mother came rushing in to investigate such noise;

 

 

it’s dad, it’s dad—he just peed on our toys!

 

 

Now mother lost it, and began screaming in fright—

 

 

oh my, my what a horrific sight!

 

 

You’ve made such a mess and one hell of a night.

 

 

My father still foggy and wanting to return to bed;

 

 

oh no you don’t mama screamed seeing red.

 

 

It would be hours of cleaning with bleach and hot water,

 

 

if only he knew she wished him for slaughter.

 

 

At the time, not funny, the cost—embarrassment, a few tears;

 

 

this would not be the worst, not by far the worst of our fears.

 

 

As we move through time we may ponder our youth;

 

 

For all we have are the stories, which tell our truth.

 

 

May you find laughter where you can and hold it dear;

 

 

Share your little stories when you or others need cheer.

 

 

And memories of Christmases past, may you never lose sight;

 

 

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year to all and to all a good night!

 

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