It usually ends early January.
One Christmas season, I must have been 5 or 6, my father took me to work - a bus depot that he managed. In the waiting room, right next to the glittery Christmas tree was a poster of “Jaws”, that summer’s ubiquitous image.
There was a buzz in the air., “Mrs. is here.”, everyone whispered. “Mrs.” was always just “Mrs.”. She was the boss, owner of the company. My father must have been busy attending to work. When eventually he caught wind of her presence, he grabbed and lifted me to his shoulders and we ran and looked for Mrs. The idea was to see if she was giving Christmas presents. She was gone by the time we got to her office.
Whenever I’m reminded of that day though, I realize it wasn’t the missed “papasko” that I think about. It was that my father never picked me up before then, at least not that I remember. I remember that it was nice being on his shoulders. I remember it was awkward because even at that young age I was tall and spindly.
I remember feeling special.
We went back to his office and he sat me on his desk He told me to keep my hands open and onto them he dumped all the coins from his pockets.
Happy days.
XXX
No comments:
Post a Comment