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Mark Parsec ^(16,695) California, USA

Mark Parsec

Stepping Stones

The Angel in Pigtails - A Christmas Story

Posted Friday, November 20, 2009 (1 day ago.) Viewed 26 times.

They say that kids do the darnedest things. Well, I sure know that's the truth. Because, as a child I did some of the strangest things you could ever imagine. Some days I reflect back at my life and wonder, "What was I thinking?" But, that's just the thing, isn't it? Kids think in an entirely different way than adults do. Somewhere along the journey of life, we adults start to think just a little differently. We start to take life so dog gone seriously that we forget about the wonder of it all, the magic and the adventure.

One of my childhood adventures was certainly filled with some magic and wonder, true enough. I was in first grade and Mrs. Fishburn had the entire class involved in arts projects for the coming holiday. Oh, we made wonderful things. Magical things, like angels from folded up old magazines and gold paint and glitter. We made Christmas tree ornaments, and paper link chains and strands of popcorn.

But, on this particular day, we were making snowflakes. Surely, you remember the kind… with plain white paper that you fold up ever so carefully, then snip a little here and cut a little there, and when you unfold it… it is the prettiest dog gone snowflake you ever did see.

Well, there I was, folding and cutting and making beautiful snowflakes. But, I just couldn't keep my mind on my work, because right in front of me sat the prettiest little girl, with bright blue eyes and beautiful long blonde pigtails. She was an absolute angel and I had a serious case of puppy love for her. I kept trying to get her attention so I could look into those beautiful blue eyes… but she was ignoring me.

That's when I had one of those magical childhood lightning bolt experiences. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that if I did something spectacular, something really fantastic, that she would look my way. So, I took my scissors and snipped off one of those beautiful little pigtails to put on my snowflake for her.

Well, it took all of about ten seconds before the little angel expressed the loudest objection to my gesture of affection that you ever could have imagined. Everyone in the classroom turned and looked. You would have thought that the little lady had just seen a ghost. In fact, I was completely perplexed as to what she was making all the fuss about and looked around about to see what was the matter.

Of course, the teacher was much more aware of the problem than I was and she resolved the matter in short order. My little angel was moved to the other side of the class and I was left, oh so alone. I kept trying to take a peek at her, but she would not even glance my way. I felt so abandoned.

When the bell finally rang, I was filled with absolute joy. I turned to find her, but she was gone. And so she remained for the next three days… gone. She did not come to school and I missed her so dearly.

Finally, the day arrived that she returned to class and I was filled to the brim with joy and anticipation. Except, there was something oddly different about her. I couldn't quite figure it out and then it became so obvious. She had a new haircut. Oh, but this was much more than a simple haircut. It looked like someone had put a bowl over her head and cut it all around. I thought it looked rather strange on her, and it reminded me of something you might see on one of the Three Stooges. Not on a beautiful angel. "Oh, why in heaven" I wondered, "did she ever do that to her hair?"

It was about the longest class session in my life as I waited for the school bell to ring. Have you ever noticed just how slow the minute hand moves on a clock from one second to the next when you're anxious to do something? It was like hours! I waited and waited, squirmed and fidgeted and fussed. I needed to talk to my angel. I wanted to ask her about her hair. I wondered if she felt the same way about me as I did about her.

Then, finally, after an absolute eternity the bell rang. But, if waiting for the school bell was the epitome of slow, my angel disappeared out of that classroom at velocity that must have exceeded the speed of light. She was nowhere to be found. Where did she go?

I gasped and I sighed, and I slowly trudged out of the classroom. I would have to wait so very, very long to see my angel again. But, my hopes were renewed as I began my ascent up the street upon which I lived. For, there, halfway up the top of the hill strolled my angel.

My heart jumped for joy within me as I did a little jig and started running up the hill calling her name, "Kristy? Kristy?"

But, she must not have heard me. Undaunted, I scurried up the hill until I finally came up behind her, still calling her name, and in a final attempt to get her attention, I did what any other red blooded American five year old boy would do… I thumped her on top of her head with my schoolbooks.

Well, let's just say she wasn't quite as excited to see me, as I was to see her. One more time I heard this unworldly sound as she let out the most earth-shattering scream I had ever heard in my life. She turned and looked at me with such horror and disgust that I thought for sure that something terrible must have happened to me to make me look suddenly grotesque.

That was about the time her tears started flowing. She looked at me for only a second or two with those tears running down her cheeks, just long enough to break my heart before she made an about face and ran home.

Dejected and confused I trudged the rest of the way home, scuffing my shoes on the sidewalk as I dragged my feet. Why didn't my angel like me? I didn't have the slightest clue.

Finally, I made it home just in time to sit down in front of our black and white TV set to watch Superman (and they wonder where kids get these ideas from). I hadn't been there for more than a minute or two before I heard the telephone ring, which my mother answered.

"Hello?"

"Yes, this is his mother."

"He did what?"

My mother's eyes suddenly became like daggers as they darted to my position on the floor.

"He did WHAT?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Bronstein, we'll take care of it."

"Yes, Mrs. Bronstein, I am so sorry that this happened."

When my mother hung up the phone, it took her only one-quarter of a second to traverse the distance from the kitchen to the living room floor where I watched her with wonder as she lifted me up by my ear.

"What did you do to the Bronstein girl?" she questioned.

"Nothing!" I protested, and quite honestly, because I didn't even know that was her last name.

"Did you hit her in the head with your book?"

"Uh… uh… I guess so."

"Then why did you say nothing?"

"Uh… uh…"

"Young man, you are in sooo much trouble. You go out and sit on the milkbox until your father gets home from work."

So off, I went, out to the front of the house to sit on the milkbox. Now, this was an insidious form of punishment, for with Christmas approaching temperatures had been hovering around the freezing point. Ice was everywhere and the milkbox was fabricated out of metal, and my pants were thin.

There is something about the cold that has always made me have to go to the bathroom after a short exposure to it, and this occasion was no exception to the rule. I squirmed and I shivered and clenched my hands and cried.

"Mommy, can I…"

"No! You just sit there until your father gets home. I'm so mad at you right now I could beat your bottom but good. I don't want to hear another peep out of you. You, just wait until your father gets home and he's going to give you a good whippin'."

Now I was scared. I was always afraid of my father. And I don't rightly know if it was my fear or the cold, but somewhere along the line I lost my water, sitting there on that milkbox as it got colder and darker outside.

Finally, my Father came driving home from work. I can't say that I was happy to see him. But, there was a certain sense of relief at the thought of getting off the milkbox. By this time, the ice was forming between the box and me.

My Father passed me by with the slightest of acknowledgements as he walked into the house, "What are you doing there, son?"

"I'm in trouble."

But, he didn't seem to notice.

Sometime later, I was called into the house and told to clean up for dinner. My father had his customary steak and potatoes, and my siblings and I ate hot dogs and beans. However, not a word was mentioned about the telephone call or why I was sent out to the milkbox, and I hoped beyond hope that the whole thing had been forgotten.

Nevertheless, when dinner was over my father pushed himself away from the table and said, "Son, get your coat. We're going for a walk."

Shortly, my father took me by the hand and began escorting me up the street… to where, I did not know.

"So, I understand you got into some trouble today, son."

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"I don't know."

"Did you hit the Bronstein girl in the head with your book?"

"Uhhh, I guess so."

"Why did you do that, son?"

"Because I wanted her to play with me."

My father was strangely quiet for a moment as we continued walking up the icy cold street.

"Did you cut her hair with your scissors?"

"Ummm, I guess so."

"Why did you do that, son?"

"Because I thought her hair was pretty."

My father shook his head. "Son, you need to be nice to girls. You can't hit them. You can't cut their hair off. You must treat them good."

"OK"

Suddenly, we were standing at the door to a house that I had never been to before and my father knocked. Momentarily, a little girl opened the door, and when she saw me standing beside my father she quickly hid behind the door.

"Is this the Bronstein residence?" my father asked.

"Yes" the girl squeaked.

"Is your father home?"

"Yes, I'll get him."

Well, my father had me stand there and apologize to Mr. Bronstein and his daughter. Mr. Bronstein had a good nature about it and even chuckled a bit. "That's what boys do" he said. Then we turned and walked away.

My father was speechless as we walked down the hill to our house. When we finally went in to the house, my mother had some hot chocolate for us and everything seemed so fine. Later, I retreated to the living room and looked up at the Christmas tree where I had hung a beautiful snowflake ornament on the tree a few days before. It was such a beautiful snowflake with blue and gold glitter and curly blonde hair.

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