Hastensandchastens

For reasons that defy geography, Detroit is in the Eastern time zone, which is great in the summer, with our 10 PM sunsets.  But darkness often descends around 3:30 in the winter, and we’re all wishing we were home in front of a fireplace, not at the office in front of spreadsheets.

This was the Detroit darkness we faced when Dad and I set out to see the doctor, when I was around 5.  The special disincentive for medical journeys when you’re a kid is that they almost always involve shots—new ones, boosters, boosters of boosters.  I didn’t care how many lollipops they promised if I stood still; lollipops do you no good if the arm you hold them with is numb.

I did my best to be brave, especially since our family doctor was a friend, and former employer, of my mom’s. He smiled gently once the needle was out of my arm, but as I howled like a banshee in a full moon, I recall him looking at my dad with an expression that asked, so, what’s it like raising a drama queen?

It’s hard to say if the shot really went that badly, or if I’d just had a tough day at school (the perils of kindergarten).  I do remember Dad telling me on the way to the car he had a surprise for me.  I tried to keep my nose from dripping and thought, there is nothing in the world that could possibly cheer me up.

The serious darkness of 5:00 had descended on my hometown, and rush hour in The Motor City always bested any carnival’s dodge-‘em cars.  I stared out the window at the passing headlights, thinking this surprise was really taking too long to get to, unless it involved driving to Santa’s workshop in the Arctic.

My pity party was disturbed by dear, gentle, Dad, who said, OK, we’re here.

If you add the physical space taken up by San Francisco, Boston, and Manhattan, you still don’t match the square footage of Detroit.  This means that, in its heyday, there were countless centers of commerce—and since this was before the strip mall came into vogue, that meant most of the stores were not simply big; they were huge.

That was the case for the Montgomery Ward store on the northwest side.  It was across from the equally behemoth Federal’s department store, but Ward’s had a serious advantage.  The front of the store had this massive overhang, larger than the square footage of most Detroit homes. If you’re dropping the spouse off for a day of shopping, they need that overhang seven months out of the year.

For one of those seven months, it was the top of that overhang that got all the attention.  That’s where Ward’s placed a full-sized Santa, his present-laden sled, eight original reindeer, and Rudolph, complete with red light-bulb nose. Dad noticed it the day before on his way home from work, and knew how much I loved it.

There’s your surprise, he said, risking life and limb to slow his car during a Motor City rush hour against the light so I could take it all in.

Just like that, I didn’t remember my arm at all.

I imagine I should think of this memory at Christmas, but it somehow ended up in the Thanksgiving file.  Maybe it’s because the display always showed up around then.  Maybe it’s because it is the earliest memory I have of genuine gratitude.

Monday Lunch

Dad and his nine siblings
Two brothers
Now me
All made the walk.
Our common parochial school was three blocks away for me
So the home journey for lunch was swift
But important.

Week’s start was wonderful sameness
Cambell’s tomato soup
A can of milk
(Since even fixed incomes should lavish)
Open faced Velveetas on white bread
Daubs of sliced green olives
Scattered
Like eyes on a Picasso.

She derided herself when the edges overly-bronzed in the broiler.
Basking in the glow of sunny Septembers
That were still autumnly brisk.
I should have told her
That was my favorite bit
(Besides the olives, of course).
But I smiled.
It would be my secret
To me.

I think
She somehow knew.

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