A Rednecks ChristmasbyJusttoold©
A Redneck's Christmas.
This work could have been put in the winter holiday section or the humorous category. I couldn't make up my mind which one so I flipped a coin and here it is. I am expecting a backlash from all the southern types about the way I stereotype the people in this story. Please remember this story is written by someone in Canada so the only things I have to compare lifestyles with is the TV, and we know where that leads. (Dukes Of Hazard, Beverley Hillbillies etc.).
This story doesn't have any sex in it although it is implied. Be patient with this story because it isn't until close to the end where everything ties together.
I also have to thank jlakehead for the fine editing skills without which this effort would not be readable. Although it never fails, when I get my work back from my editor I always have to change something so any mistakes are mine.
Well dang it all to heck. There I was just before midnight on Christmas Eve, squatting in the bramble bushes in my own back yard. To make things worse I was trying to make Tad Pole and his buddies understand why I was standing there with Pa's old goose gun.
Tad's real name was Cornelius Orville Nyglad, and when we were young all the kids called him Corny for a few years. That name came from his first name, but over the years his nick-name became Tad and the name of choice for him.
You're probably scratching your head and wondering why everyone changed his nick-name from Corny to Tad. Well that happened way back in grade one when he fell in the pond behind the old school house and swallowed a bunch of wiggly things. Everyone in the schoolyard thought it was pretty funny because Corny, now Tad, just managed to high tail it out of that pond before Old Bill the gator got to him. His arms and legs were moving so fast he looked like the road runner in those cartoons on the Saturday morning. Some guys even said he was splashing so much as he tried to get out of there; it looked like the fountain in front of the state capitol. I don't think all of us kids have ever laughed so hard.
Anyway, Tad had grown up and become the town's deputy sheriff... Now that fact was something that still amazed a lot of folks around these parts. What with his daddy selling shine out the back door of his store and all, you would have thought he would have got into another line of work.
Anyways, back to the story. I had to admit Tad was more persistent than my Brother Jake's old coon dog when it got the scent of a varmint. He was distracting me and he was making me just a bit more upset with the holiday spirit than I had started out to be. He and his friends were getting on my nerves just a bit, and I had told that squiggly drinking guy a couple of times now to ski-daddle, and leave me alone.
Danged, if his voice didn't sound like that country singer on that tape I had in my eight track player in the truck. All that infernal machine I got at a garage sale over on the east county line would play was that one old tape that came with that player. The reason it came with that player was because it was stuck in there, and no amount of prying and poking would get it out. Heck the player sounded pretty darn good once I got it hooked up though.
Why they called it a garage sale I'll never know. Heck, there wasn't a garage to be seen at all on the place. As a matter of fact there were only two garages within twenty miles. All those guys had was a table set up in their front yard, and a big sign at the end of their driveway. That player and tape cost me the better part of a dollar but I didn't care. Mind you, that one tape was stuck in there, and I couldn't play my other eight tracks in it.
Sorry I got sidetracked. I wanted Tad gone because he just had to keep repeating the same lines over and over telling me to put my gun down. He was wasting his breath because there weren't no way I was going to put my gun down because that 12 gauge goose gun was a hand me down from my Pa, and there was no way I was going to let it touch the ground. Plus if I did that, I wouldn't be able to put some of that double ought buckshot I had loaded into Santa's backside.
At least Tad had a few more smarts than he used to have, and was at least staying back a ways and with him far enough away I felt he wouldn't jump me when I wasn't looking.
I figured Tad truly wasn't trying to hard to understand my position anyhow, and I was getting fed up with him not understanding what I told him. Well heck, I should have expected that, since he was never one that did listen too good to what I had to say. Why back in school he was always ignoring me, so why would today be any different?
So you're probably asking yourself why was in the position of having Tad and all the rest of the town cops surrounding me in my back yard. Well, the main reason I was upset was I was trying to straighten a few things out between Santa and me. It all started with writing letters every year to that fat old traitor Santa, and him turning out to be a back stabbin roach.
Dang, I was getting frustrated with Tad's nagging. He just wouldn't stop. Why he could almost give my sweet Mary-Beth a run in nagging me to death. So I told him for what seemed the hundredth time that I would tell him my story, one more time. Heck I would even give him the expanded version and start right at the beginning when things started to go wrong between me and Santa.
All I was doing was trying to get him to understand I was the hurt party here, and all I wanted to happen was him to leave me alone so I could settle my squabble with Santa. I had to admit that Tad did have some patience, because he did let me tell him my story again.
I turned to face Tad and started in on my sad tale again. I started by telling him, "I can probably blame my parents for starting me on this path... After all they were the ones that first told me that if I wrote a letter to Santa that he would bring me the gifts I wanted. So being a young squirt and believing my parents, I faithfully wrote my letters to him every year. I have been doing the same thing every Christmas for as many years as I can remember, and I still go to Hancock's hardware store to sit on his knee,"
I thought to myself for a moment and then told him, "I was one of the lucky ones, because when I talked to some of my pals in school I learnt I did get passel of things I had asked for, and they didn't."
Tad again interrupted me. "What has writing to Santa got to do with the situation we now find ourselves in?"
I looked at Tad and asked him to be patient, and it all would become clear. I took a breath and continued explaining my story, "When I got older, and younger brothers and sisters came into the family, things went down hill a bit. I noticed that I got more socks and shorts instead of the things I requested, like the Lionel train set or the redwing bike I saw in the catalogue. Heck I never ever did get those things."
I explained to Tad that I couldn't really figure that one out, because Santa had been more than kind before, and as I got older he seemed to be slipping in his generosity. It disappointed me because I still faithfully wrote the letters. Even though I was now six feet tall and my Pa was happy I made it to grade eight, I still dutifully went down to Hancock's hardware store every year on the week he was there. I always sat on his lap to tell him my wishes and I even left my letter to him in that mail box they had set up behind his chair. I was just trying to be sure he got my message, even if I had just face to face told him my requests.
Continuing on I said, "Well, when I didn't get what I wanted everyone told me some snake bit story that Santa couldn't fit all his gifts on his sleigh, so he had to leave some of the bigger things behind so he could give the younger ones a present. I was in my teens when I first reckoned there must have been a passel of babies born after I was, because he left all of my presents behind, to make room for them."
I then told Tad, "After I got married my wife Mary-Beth and a few friends had tried to tell me that Santa was a myth. I went along with what they had to say just to humour them. By jiminy, why they said that I'll never know. Golly I knew better than that! You tell me, if he's a myth... why was he at Hancock's store every year... and why did he let me sit on his lap? But I wasn't going to give up on him just because of what them there know it all's said. I knew Santa would play catch up with me sooner or later, and all my past presents I had asked for would come one year."
Wooden you know it; I knew my beliefs in Santa were justified when Mary-Beth had those twins to make us a family. I heard her tell them more than once that they had to be good so that that fat old fart would bring um' toys. She sure was trying to get um' to believe in that red-suited jolly guy, while at the same time she was telling me he didn't exist. I looked at Tad and explained, "I had the sneaky feeling Mary-Beth was trying to put one past me about there being no Santa, so I patiently waited year after year. I couldn't believe my sweet Mary-Beth had tried to get me to give up my believing in Santa."
I looked over at Officer Tad and explained further, "I just knew Mary-Beth was trying to pull the wool over my eyes, because she was telling the kids all those stories about Santa, and then telling me he was a myth. I just knew that my beliefs in Santa had been justified after hearing her tell my kids the same tales I had heard as a kid. After all, why tell the kids that, if it wasn't true! So I continued to the keep the faith year after year by writing and visiting Santa."
About that time I had to warn Tad to git back again, because he was gitting closer to me again. Heck, he was getting into my line of fire and I didn't want him to spoil my shot. He raised his hands a bit and then stepped back so he was where I wanted him.
I then carried on with my explanation by telling him, "I figured out one day that Santa was getting cheaper with my gifts because I never shared with anyone else what I wanted. All my friends told me what they wanted, and they always seemed to get their wishes fulfilled. I figured they got their stuff because they shared their thoughts with other people, and I didn't get what I wanted, because I didn't share mine."
"My idea was that in some peculiar way, telling others helped to get the message to Santa so he would deliver the presents that a person wanted. So I changed my tactics when I figured that one out. After that I told Mary-Beth and a few others what I wanted, and I was surprised what I asked for after that sometimes actually came."
"So for every special occasion, like my birth' in day, or Christmas, people would ask me what I wanted for a gift. I figured I would be up front with them, so I told them the truth. I must have been on the right trail because a couple of years ago I told everyone I wanted a cute blond nymphomaniac that drove a whisky truck for a gift for my birth' in day. That seemed to be something that they all thought was a joke, because they all laughed at me. Well, not everyone laughed; Mary-Beth sure seemed to get pissed. Never could figure out why though."
"Anyway, that year I got models of toy trucks and Barbie dolls as gifts so I figured I had just had to be more specific about what I wanted. So I made sure my requests to Santa had all the explanations and model numbers so there would be no mistaking what I wanted."
"Last Christmas, I was complaining one more time to Mary-Beth that I never got what I wanted for any of my gifts. Oh sure I could use those shorts and socks, but they weren't what I wished for. I thought I had found the answer to my problem when I figured out that the kids never put their letter in the mailbox beside Santa in Hancock's store, and always gave it to Mary-Beth a few weeks before Christmas. They mostly got their gifts so I thought that if I left my letter with theirs, my wishes would come true. I reckoned that at least Santa would get my letter when he got the kids letters."
By this time officer Tad was looking bored and he was looking around. Of course he had heard all of this before, and when I saw him looking around I did too. I saw there were a few more policemen around the area, and they seemed like they had me cornered like a fat northerner in a tree. Dang it all, what were they doing in my back yard? They were being nice though and when I warned them, "If'n you guys trample on Mary-Beth's garden patch she will get pissed and be hunting yah-all down, and I'm sure you all know what kind of temper she has." That threat sure got them backing up in a hurry and they were careful where they stepped too.
I went back to telling my story to Tad, "After I gave Mary-Beth my letter, she added it to the kids letters and tied it in a ribbon telling me that Santa would get it when he got the kids letters.
Later I was sure I overheard her on the phone with her mother, and she told her mother that she was getting tired of humouring me. I didn't know if she was making fun of me or what, but being the trusting guy I am, I never gave it anymore thought."
I think Tad was just trying to be nice when he asked me, "So you did write out that list, and give it to Mary-Beth?"
He asked nice so I told him, "I sure enough did, and I even went one better and took pictures of the gifts I wanted. I even attached those to my list for Santa. In my letter to him I explained that I didn't want any mistakes with him not really knowing what I wanted, so that was why I included the pictures."
"Anyway the next morning I was awakened by a very pissed Mary-Beth, as she was yelling and screaming something I couldn't make out. It really didn't help me understand what she was trying to say, because she was swinging her favourite cast iron frying pan at me. Apparently she had made contact with my head a few times before I knew what was happening, so my head was pretty sore and I had a hard time thinking just then. The only way I didn't get hit a few more times with that pan, was I rolled under the bed."
"I guess I was lucky that day, because my head was ringing like preacher Adams' bell on Sunday when he got Big Hoss to yank on the rope. I guess I got off lucky though. It wasn't until later I realized that pan could have been full of hot fat like it usually was. I spent a few days in the hospital, and the only conclusion I could come up with about what had happened, was that Santa had betrayed me and told Mary-Beth what was on my Christmas list."
Tad reminded me that he was the one dispatched out on that call, and he actually sounded concerned when he asked if I was feeling any better after being released from the hospital. He asked me again why with all that happened to me, why I was out in my yard, with a goose gun. To tell you the truth I don't think he really cared, I think he just wanted to go home so that he could enjoy some shine on his back porch with his Pa.
I had to inform him again, "Believing in Santa got me in this mess with Mary-Beth, and I'm waiting so he and I can have it out once and for all."
Tad noticed I had an envelope in my hand and asked, "Is that your letter you wrote to Santa?"
I replied, "Yeah this is the letter. I'm sure that that sneaky old fat fart must have snuck into our house sometime this week and put it in Mary-Beth's dresser storage drawer, because that's where I found it right under her frilly under things."
Tad wanted to read it, but I could hear the church bells telling everyone it was midnight on Christmas Eve and it was now time for the showdown with Santa. So I told Tad, You're going to have to wait a few minutes, because it's midnight and Santa will be arriving soon." At that point I had been waiting in the bushes for an hour and there were burrs and thorns in my britches. They aggravated the feelings I was having just then and all I wanted to do was fill Santa's backside with double-ought buckshot when he did show up.
Just then I thought I heard some sleigh bells ringing, and I turned around to draw a bead on that fat traitor in the red suit.
In the cell block later I was thinking on those bells. They just might have been a few side effects from that frying pan episode with Mary-Beth.
Anyways, I heard the bells and spun around bringing my gun up to my shoulder looking to sight in on Santa. I couldn't see those deer he was supposed to have or him in the sleigh either. That's when that backstabbing Tad and the other officers jumped me. I managed to get off a shot in hopes I would get that fat traitor, but I couldn't tell if I got him or not, because my head was now buried in my ash pile.
As I was bundled into a squad car, with a few more bruises than I had before, I looked at my roof. I guess I missed my shot. But I noticed that the chimney and some of my shingles were going to need replacing when I got back home. Tad had taken my letter from me when they had taken my dad's gun, and all my stuff out of my pockets.
As his partner drove to the station Tad read my note.
When we got to the station I was locked up, and I thought I heard Mary-Beth's name mentioned through the door to the squad room. For some reason when her name was mentioned everyone in the room was laughing.
I was in cells for two days before I got to court, and when I was brought to the court room I had to face my uncle-in-law, Judge Reynolds. Everyone thought he was a cantankerous old coot but he and I got along good enough to say hi to each other. He talked to Tad and got his side of things before I got my say and explained things from the way I saw things. My uncle-in-law, the old judge, wanted to know what my note to Santa was about. Some guy in a uniform handed the letter to the sheriff, and the sheriff then commenced to read it out loud to the judge.
While he read the letter the people in the courtroom were all laughing their heads off about something or other. Gee, I must have missed my buddy Horatio farting... or someone telling a joke or something... because there wasn't anything I could see funny happening.
I was eventually sentenced for six months probation for creating a disturbance and firing a gun in town limits.
A few weeks later I bumped into my lawyer at the feed store and he told me that my story had even made the papers two weeks running, so I went to the town newspaper office to get me a copy of the weekly paper from the last two weeks.
I couldn't for the life of me understand why there was a write up about me, but sure enough there it was in black and white.
Sleepy Hollow Sentinel.
Court report. Dateline December 27. By-line by Harl Leadbottom.
The court for this week had three drunks sentenced for moon shining. Bill Applebee, John Crabgrass, and Bobby-lee Johnston will be in cells for a couple of weeks, and their wives are not happy about them getting caught. According to Bessie-Sue they should have known the cops would be checking that hollow that day.
Allan Brooks from over the county line appeared in front of the bench and pleaded not guilty for breaking and entering. He was accused of breaking into Jed's bar to get some free drinks. Allen said that he just leaned against the door and it opened so he went to check things out. His court date has been set over for another three weeks until he can get a lawyer.
Cleatus Hanes appeared for the shooting incidence on Cripple Creek road a while back. Judge Reynolds went on record by saying he thought Cleatus had suffered enough, because not only had he been arrested but he had to fix his roof where the buckshot had damaged the chimney as well as the shingles. The worst punishment Cleatus had to face was that Judge Reynolds niece who Cleatus was married to, Mary Beth was waiting for him to come home and fix the damage he had done and the judge also had to warn Mary Beth that she was to wait until things were fixed around the house before she tore into Cleatus.