To be a teen was in the distance somewhere. I might have been 9, maybe 10. It was the year to travel north to Nebraska, where we would celebrate Christmas with Greg’s parents, my stepfather. Such trips were a pleasure for me because they were different, and I loved to be on the move. Most important: there would be snow!
We left Austin to travel north and north and north. All the way it was amusing to ask Greg math questions, and it was a marvel how well he answered! Or there were jokes. Some naughty. Definitely inappropriate for children, but hey, families express themselves in different ways, right?
I most remember the time period of this one trip because I was caught between two choices of underwear. It was either rayon-like bikini briefs (weird, right?), or silk boxers. Maybe it was a tactile thing, not sure. All I know is that my most favorite pair of anything to wear was the red silk boxers with hearts all over them. I guess they were how I was actively expressing my inner romantic at the time. Maybe it would be best to purge all of this from my memory!
Greg’s parents were wonderful. Jim and Silvia. Jim was a photographer and had a bubbly personality. Their home, in Colombus, Nebraska, was multi story, like most in that region having a full basement, with a pool in back. It is the oddest thing to me how I have a near perfect memory of most homes I either lived in, or was closely connected with, and Greg’s childhood home was no exception.
That is how I remember the day I woke up extra early, of course wearing my favorite red silk boxers — only them — and I figured it would be kind to run out and get the paper for “grandpa.” Sure it was cold out there. And snow was on the ground! I was already imagining the soft crunchiness beneath my feet as I crept down the stairs, silently making my way to the front of the house. In the entryway, then, I pulled open the wooden door, and peered through the glass safety (storm) door, spotting the paper out by the mailbox.
A snowy landscape awaited me. The paper was lightly dusted. I wasted no time opening the glass door and dashing forth. I relished every chilled step that softly sank and crunched. I smiled with each exhaled, cloudy breath. My small, thin body was instantly chilled, skin alive with “goose-bumps.” But that was okay! I already had the paper in hand and I was racing back. Like a track star that had accepted a baton exchange.
The glass door awaited me, the finish line.
But it was closed!
What I forgot: the stupid door self locked!
Was it 10 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour? My brain was so frozen then that I struggle to remember now. In nothing but silk boxers I was a pathetic, shivering paperboy knocking on the glass door until FINALLY someone answered. I don’t even remember who opened the door. I had chattering teeth, a shaking body … was rubbed vigorously, covered with someone’s robe, and led to the kitchen for hot chocolate.
Grandpa Jim enjoyed his newspaper a lot that morning. He told me so with laughter! But that was okay. My good deed was recognized and appreciated. And Christmas was made a bit more special that year through the related story of my misadventure.
Trust me, I was wearing more than silk boxers during the retelling!
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