Tell Me A Story: 2013 JOURNEY TO CHRISTMAS: A VERY RASPBERRY CHRISTMAS

Marcia Norwood
America's STORYTELLER
Telling Untold Stories in Photographs, Prose and Public Speaking

My teacher friends tell me the ornery boys I taught in my Kindergarten and Preschool classes were always my favorites.

I loved the girls that I taught and coached, too, of course.

I treated girls and boys fairly in class.

It's just that God gave me a sense of humor when it comes to the antics of ornery boys.

Boys will be boys.

They are busy, and curious and well, BUSY.

You understand what I'm talking about if you've reared a son, or grandson, or taught or coached boys.

The stories we could tell.

Here's one of them.

Here's a story from a boy, Samuel, and the trouble his brother, Michael, caused one Christmas.

Look at that face!

You will love him, like I do, when you hear his story.

2013 JOURNEY TO CHRISTMAS:

A VERY RASPBERRY CHRISTMAS

Sam Franc

thegraphicsfairy.com

My brother, Michael...(most of my stories start with that statement)...was nine years old that fateful Christmas.

I was six years old.

Michael was going through a stage
where he liked to play with f i r e.

My family is Jewish. We celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas.

I know. Most Jews don't have Christmas trees, but we're Messianic Jews, and Mom really likes to decorate things.

My brother, Michael, thought it would be pretty to light the Menorah under the Christmas tree, and take a picture.

He did it. He sat the Menorah under the Christmas tree,

and lit it.

A little part of the tree caught on f i r e.

All my family (Mom; Dad; my brother, Tommy; Grandma, Grandpa and me) were in the kitchen. We had no idea what happened, and my brother, Michael, wasn't about to tell us.

My brother, Michael, thought there might be something inside one of the packages under the tree that would help him extinguish the small f i r e.

My brother, Michael, grabbed one of the presents and opened it. Inside was an aerosol can. Not knowing what it was, my (nine-year old) brother, Michael, sprayed the contents of the can on the tree, with the hope that it would put out the f i r e.

The can was actually filled with Mom's favorite, expensive raspberry hair spray. It cost about $30 a can.

Mom, Dad, Tommy, Grandma, Grandpa, and me heard clinging and clanging, and ran from the kitchen in to the living room as fast as we could.

F i r e consumed the entire tree.

Mom's beautiful tree was burning. Ornaments fell from its branches.

My brother, Michael, just stood there in amazement. He never even noticed we were there. He was so amazed in fact, he captured the moment in pictures with the camera dad gave to him.

We were flabergasted: "What just happened?"

The funny thing is...the entire tree burned, but nothing else caught on f i r e.

My grandpa, the rabbi, laughed hysterically.

Mom didn't laugh at all. I'm not sure if she was more mad that my brother, Michael, wasted her expensive raspberry hair spray - or the fact that her tree was in ashes.

Mom walked over to get a good look. All that was left where her beautiful tree stood was her melting ornaments, our presents (now covered in charcoal), and our tree topper: the Star of David, which had been a Franc family treasure for three generations. It survived - surprisingly unharmed, and stood upright on top of the heap of ashes.

No one can explain how that happened.

Mom's eye began to twitch - like it always does when she gets mad. We all knew my brother, Michael, was in trouble.

My brother, Michael, turned around and took a picture of the whole family's shocked expressions, and then he ran upstairs and locked himself in his room.

Mom picked up a few of the ashes of her tree in her hand, and watched as the ashes slipped through her fingers. Grandpa said she was in shock.

Mom didn't bother cleaning up the tree that day. She left everything just as it was. No one was allowed to touch it.

We went on like nothing happened. We watched television, and opened our charcoal gifts around the heap of ashes. We didn't have to tear our gifts open. The charcoal gift wrap fell off easily.

Every time my brother, Michael, came close to Mom...her eye began to twitch, although she didn't say a word.

Two days passed, and Mom was still in shock.

I asked Dad to take me to a forest. I wanted to find a tree for Mom just as beautiful as the one my brother, Michael, burned down. It had to be something I could carry home. I wanted to do it all by my six-year-old self.

Dad and I hunted for about an hour or two and then - there it was!

"I want to cut this tree down, and bring it home to Mom."

Dad offered to help me cut down the tree that was five feet tall, and much bigger than me, but I refused his help.

"Alright, son. Don't hurt yourself." He leaned against another tree and watched me.

I chopped and chopped and chopped for about 45 minutes, until I cut down that tree.

"Watch out, Dad! Don't let the tree smoosh you on the way down."

My arms were sore, but I felt like Paul Bunyan.

I rested a bit, and drank some apple juice.

Dad helped me tie a rope on the tree and then around my shoulders like a backpack. I dragged that five-foot tree behind me.

"Do you want me to help you carry it, son?" Dad said.

"NO! I can do this."

Step by step...

It seemed like it took us forever to get to the car. There were trees to walk through, and pinecones and pine needles and deer fecal matter everywhere on the snow covered ground.

I thought: "This must be what it was like for the pioneers."

Finally, Dad and I saw the car about 100 yards out.

We were almost there.

My tree felt surprisingly light.

"I must be getting stronger," I thought.

Dad didn't say a word.

When we were about 50 feet away from the car, I started running.

I ran to the car with the tree behind me, and tagged the car like it was home base!

I untied the string that was tied on my shoulders like a backpack, and turned around. To my amazement - my once full beautiful five-foot tree was reduced to a log and two spindly branches.

Dad sighed, and said: "Samuel, I didn't know how to tell you. Still - this might be the most beautiful tree I have ever seen. Let's get it home to your mom so she can decorate it."

I felt better about my little tree. We loaded it on top of the car. It looked more like a piece of firewood with two arms.

My five-foot tree was more like a three-foot tree.

I'm not sure what happened to the rest of it.

On the drive home, Dad and I discussed theories about what happened to the tree. We concluded a family of beavers were hungry, and they needed to feed their children, so they ate my tree.

See? I fed the hungry beavers.

Dad agreed.

It made me happy.

We pulled up in the driveway at home, and I couldn't wait to show mom the tree I got her.

Dad helped me unload it.

"This is what we'll do, Samuel. I'll go ring the doorbell and you can be the tree delivery man."

Grandma, Grandpa,and my brothers, Michael and Tommy were watching television. Mom was still staring at the ashes of her old tree when Dad rang the doorbell.

My brother, Michael, opened the door. He looked down at my tree and laughed: "You guys have been gone all this time, and you brought back a piece of firewood with two arms?"

"No, Michael. Let me in, and I will educate you," I said.

I dragged the tree inside, and put it on top of the ashes. I picked up the Star of David, and set it on top of the tree.

I sat in front of it.

"Family, I want to tell you something," I announced.

They listened, because Grandpa says when someone wants to talk...you listen.

I had their attention.

"Mom, here is your Christmas tree...unlike the one my brother, Michael, burned. It might not be as pretty, but I chopped it all by myself....and I fed homeless beavers along the way."

No one spoke for what seemed like forever.

My brother, Michael, laughed and took a picture of my tree.

Mom finally got off the sofa, and walked toward me. She pulled me me in her arms and hugged me. She started to cry, and my mom is not a crying woman - ever.

"Samuel, there is only one thing I can say about this. This is the most beautiful tree I have ever seen. I see no flaws in it."

She gathered up the melted ornaments and began to stick them on my tree. She wrapped red and green velvet ribbon around my tree, and added tiny little multicolored Christmas lights.

Grandma started to clean up the ashes, but Mom made my brother, Michael, do it.

Grandma made a rule that year: "If you ever buy a gift that will cause a fire - do NOT wrap it."

Mom kept looking at the tree. She wasn't in shock anymore. But for the next week or two every time she looked at my brother, Michael, her eye began to twitch.

Our house smelled like raspberry hair spray for at least one week. Mom said the smell must have stayed in the curtains.

Dad never bought Mom raspberry hair spray again, but

every year since - someone buys my brother, Michael, a can of raspberry hair spray.

Christmas 2011, Grandmother gave us permission to break her rule about NOT wrapping flammable items. The word got out and everybody in the family bought my brother, Michael, the same gift. That year my brother, Michael, unwrapped 18 cans of raspberry hair spray.

A VERY RASPBERRY CHRISTMAS

Sam Franc

Raspberry Hair Spray

CLICK on the link or COPY & PASTE the link in your browser:

http://images.search.yahoo.com/search/images?_adv_prop=image&fr=mcafee&va=raspberry+hairspray

Sam is searching for the photographs that his brother, Michael, took on "that fateful Christmas," so I can add them to his story.

Keep checking back for updates and more stories!

Thanks for stopping by!

Come back often, and invite a friend!

Marcia Norwood

America's STORYTELLER

Telling Untold Stories in Photographs, Prose and Public Speaking

Blogger at: http://tellmeastory-marcia.blogspot.com/

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Tuesday, December 10, 2013

2013 JOURNEY TO CHRISTMAS: A VERY RASPBERRY CHRISTMAS

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AMERICA'S STORYTELLER, Marcia Norwood