A Wish on a Neon Star

In its heyday, Mickey’s on 3^rd and East 21^st was a happening place.  Both young and old would stop in for a drink; maybe have some conversation about politics or the war.  But as the streets outside the old bar got rougher, the crowd of customers disappeared.  Now, the bar was a hideout for the local boys.  Boys who were toughened by the years, by the war, or by heartache soothed with whiskey.

                The owner and bartender was Mickey’s nephew, Joe, who took over the place shortly after Mickey passed away.  Mickey was an Irish tough guy with a heart to match, but everyone respected him.  He lived long enough to see his boy come home from Hanoi, and then the cancer got the better of him.  Mickey was only in the grave about a month when his soldier boy joined him; he couldn’t handle what he had done, the lives he took.  Everyone told him that was his job, as a soldier, but the guilt ate at him like an ulcer.  He hung himself in his hospital room, leaving a simple note that said, “I’m sorry.”

                Now, Joe stood behind the pitted and stained counter, wiping glasses and thinking about things.  Tonight was Christmas Eve.  There were no decorations in the bar, no Christmas tree, or fake snowflakes.  The only thing that suggested a holiday was an old neon star in the bar window.  Someone had put it up there a few years back, and Joe never got around to taking it down. But that was it, just the star and the haze from the cigarettes being smoked by the patrons.  Patrons, Joe thought to himself.  He gazed around the room, looking at each lonely face, etched with guilt, pain, and regret.  Sitting at the bar was old Ronnie, who had been a hard worker all of his life.  He loved his wife, gave her anything she could ever ask for, treated her like gold.  But then one night, he came home from work and found her and one of his coworkers together.  At that point, his heart seemed to shatter and freeze at the same time.  For the last fifteen years, Ronnie has been alone, never being able to forget nor forgive. 

                The two boys in the corner booth, Fred and Gary, came out of Sing Sing on the same day, after serving a dime apiece for larceny.  They’ve been straight ever since coming out five years ago, but the times being what they are, they may be seeing the inside of a cell once again.  Some boys never learn.

                Tony G. sat at a table by himself, nursing his fourth double bourbon, dealing himself a solitaire hand.  None of the regulars know what the “G” stands for, but that’s how they always address him.  Tony G. is somewhat of a mystery to the locals.  Some say he was a soldier for the Gambino family, others say that he escaped from prison out west, somewhere in California.  Most likely, he is just another lonely soul, looking for a place to hide.  And tonight, that place seems to be at the bottom of the bourbon bottle.

                Joe, himself, was one of these lonely souls.  He had been married, all those years ago.  He had been hurt also, like Ronnie.  Except instead of cheating on him, his wife, his beautiful Alice, had the nerve to die giving birth to their son.  The boy only lived three hours longer than his mother, and then joined her, leaving him alone and broken.   His heart was truly broken, for after his tragedy, he seemed incapable to love or show sympathy towards others.  He held onto his pain and wallowed in the agony for the last twenty two years. 

                After finishing his assessment of the room, Joe finished wiping the glasses, and refilled Ronnie’s beer.  He picked up Ronnie’s crumpled ten dollar bill, and stashed it in the ancient register with the bum drawer.  He had to hit the bottom corner of the drawer just right for it to open.  I should really invest in a new register, he thought to himself. 

                The old Budweiser neon clock on the wall above the bar read ten o’clock, and a couple of more stragglers came in and sat down.  Seeing more of the local boys, Joe poured the drinks without taking the order.  Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.  These guys were creatures of habit, same drink, same time.  Joe looked down at the newspaper, and heard the door open again.  Expecting to see another regular, he was shocked to see that the visitor was actually a small boy, no more than ten or eleven.  Joe thought, what the hell are you doing here, kid?  This isn’t exactly the safest place at night.  The boy looked around the bar; everyone was silent, just staring at him.  No one had seen him before, and he wasn’t one of the local kids from the neighborhood.  The boy walked towards the counter where Joe was standing. 

                “Did you know that someone is outside in the snow, all alone?  She’s lost, and she doesn’t know how to get home,” the kid said, in a confident voice.  “She’s scared and sad, and she’s starting to freeze.”

                Joe looked out of the grimy window without moving out from behind the bar.  Across the street, through the falling snow flakes, he could see the silhouette of a young girl, standing under one of the street lights.  The payphone that she was standing next to hadn’t worked in two years.  Joe, looked down at the boy and said, “That’s not my problem, kid.  How would you know that anyway?  Are you two working some sort of scam?”

                The boy looked into Joe’s eyes, almost searching for something.  He stared at him for a moment, and then said, “If she could get home, on this night of all nights, she would already be there.” 

                At that moment, Joe felt as if something had unfrozen inside his chest.  He looked at the boy, and then looked at the girl across the street.  She was sitting on a low step, with her head in her hands.  Quietly, Joe came out from behind the bar.  The guys stared silently at him, and they watched him open the cash register drawer.  He took what was in the till, about three hundred bucks, folded the bills in half, and walked over to the door.  Joe opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air, followed by the boy.  He walked across the street and stood next to the girl, who was crying silently into her threadbare coat.  Shakily, Joe put out his hand and touched the girl’s shoulder.  She looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks, unable to say anything. 

                The boys watched from inside the bar, they saw Joe talking to the girl, and the boy was standing a few feet behind them.  The snow had let up a little, so they could see them pretty clearly.  They saw Joe put out his hand, and saw the girl lay her small hand in Joe’s rough, calloused one. 

                Even though it was late, and the traffic had slowed on 21^st, Joe whistled for a cab.  The cab pulled up along the curb.  Joe put the girl in the cab and told the driver, “JFK.”  He handed the girl the wad of money that he had gotten from the cash register, looked into her confused face, and said, “Go home.”  The girl looked down at the money, and glanced back at Joe, who smiled at her and patted her hand.  She whispered a thank you, and the cab pulled away from the curb.  He watched the cab turn onto 3^rd, and disappear down the street. 

                He stood there for a moment or two, unknowing that the boys in the bar watched him in awe.  They knew him, they knew his pain, and they knew what a tough bastard he was.  No one noticed, however, that the young boy had disappeared.

                Joe came to his senses, and looked down to where the boy had been standing, but he wasn’t there.  He turned, looking behind him, but there was no trace, not even footprints in the snow.  Befuddled by what had just happened, Joe slowly made his way back inside the bar.  The boys watched him return to his usual position behind the counter, but he seemed different.  Inside himself, Joe felt a lightness that he hadn’t felt in some time.  Whatever had a hold on his heart had released its grip, and he felt warm.  Warm.  He hadn’t felt warmth since the last time he held Alice in his arms. 

                The rest of the night, in the smoky haziness of the bar, the loneliness that infected so many of the boys seemed to relax its hold on them.  They talked to each other, and some even laughed.  Joe sat and drank with Ronnie, played cards with Tony G., and laughed at Fred and Gary’s jokes.  No one paid for their drinks, and Joe kept their glasses full.  None of them went home that night.  They sat there into the morning hours.  They were already at home.

(This story is an adaptation of the song “Old City Bar”, written by Paul O’Neill.)

               

               

My Twelve Days of Christmas

Okay.  We all know the song.  But who really knows what it means?  Yeah, the tradition says that it symbolizes beliefs in Christianity.  For example, “ten lords a leaping” symbolizes the Ten Commandments.  I, however, believe that this song was written most likely by someone who might have had too much rum in their eggnog.  Let‘s work backwards from the end of the song.

Twelve Drummers Drumming:  The drummers represent overexcited children on Christmas morning waking their parents up at four o’clock in the morning by pouncing on their beds, and maybe inadvertently kneeing their father in the crotch in all the exhilaration.

Eleven Pipers Piping:  Pipers?  Is there anyone that actually plays the pipe anymore?  I would like this to represent the eleven piping hot cinnamon rolls I would like to eat on Christmas morning.  Thankfully I’m usually too busy and only have time for a cold muffin.

Ten Lords a Leaping:  The leaping of children on Christmas morning into the piles of presents left by a certain someone…Or the leaping of Mommy’s wallet as it hiccups and spews pages of gift receipts. 

Nine Ladies Dancing:  This represents the hundreds of CEOs dancing in the streets as they get fatter on Christmas dollars.  Capitalism at its best.

Eight Maids a Milking:  Why is it always the maids that are milking?  Why can’t some of those lords stop dancing and help out a little with the chores? 

Seven Swans a Swimming:  I want to see these swans that can swim in ice.  There is ice on the lakes and ponds here, so I’m not sure where they are going to be swimming.  Don’t swans migrate during the winter?  May have to Google that one, just to see…

Six Geese a Laying:  The geese turn into beached whales, laying on the living room floor after the festivities and the feasting.  There is so much food that everyone overeats, then falls asleep…maybe it’s the tryptophan in the turkey, or the rum in the eggnog.  Or maybe it’s the toxic mushrooms that somehow found their way into the stuffing.

Five Golden Rings:  I want to meet this husband who is buying not one, but five gold rings for his wife.  And why does one woman need five rings?  Does she really need one for each finger?  This is extremely overindulgent and I think that husband is either trying to buy off his wife for his yearly indiscretions, or is just trying to shut her up after a year of nagging.

Four Calling Birds:  What the hell is a calling bird? 

Three French Hens:  I’ve heard them are good eatin’.  Just don’t shoot ‘em with buck shot, or you may lose a couple of teeth during dinner.

Two Turtle Doves:  All I can think of when I picture a turtle dove is a koopa troopa from Super Mario Brothers.  Those damn flying turtles always get me when I’m right at the end of a world.

A Partridge in a Pear Tree:  Are there partridges where there are pear trees?  And can a big, fat partridge actually sit in a pear tree without damaging it?  That poor pear tree, the branches are screaming…don’t you hear the agony? 

Put on Your Listening Ears

Dear son and daughter,

Your lives would be so much simpler if you would just listen to your mother from time to time.  When Mommy tells you that you can’t have a cookie until you eat two more bites of dinner…just eat the two bites.  Seriously, you’ve eaten twenty bites of the same dinner for the last hour, what is two more bites? 

When Mom tells you that it is cold outside, and that you should really wear a hat and gloves, take that as an order, not a recommendation.   And if you so choose to ignore sound advice from your mother, please do not whine when your hands get cold.  These ears have had filters installed, I no longer hear whining, no matter what the volume or pitch is.

When Mom tells you to clean up your room and put things away in the proper places, please heed this advice.  If you clean up your room by shoving things into niches and corners, throwing things in the closet or under the bed, certain items may go missing.  If you prefer this way of cleaning over the way your mother asked you to, then don’t ask me where your paint chips are, or where your Borders gift card is.  If you put it in the proper place, you wouldn’t have to ask me.

When Mommy tells you not to stand up in your high chair, I tell you this not to take the fun out of your day, but to safeguard you against head injury.  So if you refuse to listen to the countless “sit down’s” and “you are going to fall’s”, then please don’t cry when you do fall.  I may have no sympathy for you, since with my infinite wisdom, I saw the event take place in my mind before it actually happened.

When Mommy tells you to only use the foot switch once to turn on the Christmas lights, please subscribe to this warning.   If I have to do those lights again because you blew all of the fuses by turning them on and off (Mommy, look at the blinking lights…they’re pretty!), I will make life around this house extremely miserable.  For when Mommy is miserable, the entire house will suffer. 

Just remember, the both of you, that I love you to the extreme, but that you are driving your mother to the brink of insanity.  So unless you want to see me in a jacket with buckles in a padded room only on Sundays, I suggest you start LISTENING.  God gave you two ears and only one mouth for a reason. 

Incompetent to Stand Trial

I am beginning to think that I am the insane one and everyone else is normal.  There can’t be this many lunatics in the world, so I must be seeing it in reverse.  “Huh?” you say, but if you ever visit New York City during the holiday season, then you will understand what I’m talking about.

My sister, my daughter and I journeyed to the Big Apple yesterday to take in some sights, see some stores and have a nice dinner.  First I would like to point out that Connecticut does not put much stock into their rail system, and seems pretty much to have washed its hands of the whole situation.  I’m not sure where all of the casino money and tax dollars go, but they are certainly not funding the railways here.  After a jolting, loud, overheated two hour ride, we arrived at Grand Central.  From there we visited the Museum of Natural History, and ventured to Columbus Circle to walk down Central Park South to Fifth Avenue.  Asides from the pushing, shoving and almost getting run down by a couple of cabs, we found FAO Schwartz.  We proceeded to stand in a line that was an entire block long in order to just step foot in the store.  Once inside, it seemed most people were in some type of feeding frenzy, and my sister was actually physically moved aside by an old woman.  After having heart palpitations at some of the overinflated, ridiculous prices, we moved out of the warm store and into the forty mile-an-hour winds of the city.  We made our way down Fifth and visited Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, and headed towards Rockefeller Center.  A suggestion?  Look at the tree and the skaters in the comfort of your own home on your TV.  It is totally not worth the anguish.  First of all, I thought that the tree was decorated…all it had on it was lights.  Totally not impressive.  There were so many people in Rockefeller Center that you couldn’t even see the skaters.  We moved onto Times Square, which was also so packed that it was shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalks.  Again, we waited in an exceptionally long line to enter the M&M’s store. 

We had an excellent dinner at Vice Versa on West 51^st (pumpkin ravioli…yum!) and headed back into the mayhem of Times Square.  Thankfully there were no lines to get into the Disney Store and Toys R Us.  We walked back downtown to the Empire State Building, went up to the observatory, viewed the city lights from the 86^th floor in sixty mile-an-hour winds, and made our way back to Grand Central Station.  By this time, the three of us are utterly exhausted and freezing; we make a quick pit stop and board the crowded train home.  This is where the real fun began.  We had the absolute sheer luck of sitting with a rather large extended family that took up most of the car.  There was about ten kids and what looked to be four adults, or should I say three adults and one really big child.  The really big child, approximately forty two years old, proceeded to throw M&M’s around the car, hitting his brother in the head, as well as some other unrelated passengers.  In addition, he had a really large and obnoxious mouth, and I know I heard the “F” word said several times in front of his eight-year-old children.  After he tired of throwing candy, he began to roughhouse with his son, who kept jostling into the passengers (unrelated) in the seat across the aisle.  I sat in utter shock, appalled at the behavior of this grown man, on a public train, no less.   

We returned to Union Station in New Haven after two grueling hours of pandemonium, and made our way home.  What a day, what a day.  Overall I think we had a good time, but I don’t think that I would ever venture out to the City during the holidays again.  We were too worried about losing each other in the crowd and getting lost to really take in all of the offerings of the city…the architecture, the cultures, the decorations.  We may do a couple of things differently next time, such as investing in either noise cancelling headphones or large doses of horse tranquilizer for the train ride.  Or maybe large amounts of cash for bail, since I may be charged with manslaughter.  I will just tell the judge that I plead not guilty for reason of mental defect…the defect being I decided to visit the city during Christmas.  You can come see me at Bellevue.

A Mother's Sacrifice

               And so we began our journey out of Galilee in Nazareth into Judea so that Joseph could register with the census.  All of our worldly possessions packed in several bags upon our mule, and I, heavy with our child, upon its back.  My memory flashes back to the night when His Angel came to me, not in a dream but in my waking hours.  He blessed me and said I would conceive and bear a Son, the Son of God.  I was scared and confused, because I had never known a man.  The Angel comforted me and told me not to be afraid, that I was still innocent and I would conceive by the Holy Spirit.  At that moment, my heart was filled with warmth and joy, as the Holy Spirit blessed me with this child.  Thus I became His disciple and my faith ever deepened in the Lord God.

                Now, upon this mule, my child grew ever bigger, comfortable and warm.  My husband told me that this journey would take about two or three days to accomplish, ever aware of my discomfort from being heavy with child.  I looked upon him, leading our mule to his birth city, knowing he still struggled with the knowledge that the child within my womb was not his.  It seemed however something had comforted him, otherwise he may have put me away, or publically shamed me.  He did neither and we married quietly.

                We approached the city of Judea when the sun was high on the third day.  Joseph found shade for me under a date palm, and went to stand in line to register with the census.  The sun was beginning to sink when he returned to me.  We gathered our belongings, and he helped me to my feet.  It was then I felt the warmth of the birth water run down my legs under my robes.  I stayed silent, for Joseph had the trouble of finding us a place to board for the night.

                The city was crowded because of the census, and because of the late hour of our arrival, many of the inns and boarding houses were full to capacity.  We travelled to several different locations, and were turned away.  I could see the lines of worry on Joseph’s face, fearing we would have to sleep out of doors in the cold.  Finally, we came upon a small inn with a tiny stable behind.  The innkeeper told Joseph that he had no more room, but we could stay in the stable with the stock.  It would be warm and as the air cooled, the stable was a welcomed site.

                By this time, the pains of labor were getting worse, and it was difficult for me to dismount the mule.  Silently Joseph led me to a soft spot in the rear of the stable, where fresh hay was piled.  I reclined on the sweet smelling hay while Joseph brought our things from the mule.  I took out some swaddling clothes I had packed and laid them out on the hay next to me.  Seeing this and the sweat on my brow, Joseph quietly assisted me in the preparation of the birth.  The child came into the world without a sound, small and beautiful, with large brown eyes that studied my face.  I cleaned Him gently and wrapped Him snuggly in the swaddling clothes.  I nuzzled Him close, awed by His beauty.  The animals housed with us seemed to sense the wonderment of this child, and came to rest near us to give us more warmth.  They were silent; all that could be heard was their peaceful, rhythmic breathing.

                We rested for a time, Joseph standing guard over us.  Then we heard a slight commotion outside the stable.  Joseph went out to see, and returned with several men clad in the robes of distant lands.  They stood in the entrance for several moments, and then each came forward and knelt before me and the Babe.  They said they had followed a star to the birth place of the King of the Jews, and were present to pay homage to Him and give Him gifts.

                “What is the name you have given Him?” one of them asked me gently.  I looked at Joseph, who nodded, and I replied, “His name is Jesus.” 

                They each presented their gifts.  “Gold,” one man said, “to symbolize His virtue.  The second man offered frankincense, “to symbolize prayer.”  The third man brought forth myrrh, and quietly said, “To symbolize suffering.”  I looked into his eyes, and seeing the fear in mine, he replied, “This child who you hold at your breast, will be a great man.  Many will behold Him and love Him just like you do now.  Centuries from now, people will continue to revere Him, kneel in awe before Him, and many will die in His name.  He will be the Savior for humankind, but He will suffer to save them.”

                For the rest of the night, as the venerable ones kept watch over us, many people, mostly shepherds and stable hands came to kneel before my Son.  He beheld each visitor, and they beheld Him, and so was the beginning of His Kingdom.

               

For those who believe in Christ, this is the true meaning of Christmas.  Remember the reason why we celebrate, and kneel before Him in reverence and love.