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Mom came in and woke us up early. “Come look outside, it’s beautiful.” “What?” we muttered. “It snowed last night and we are going to have a white Christmas!”
Levis, heavy socks, long sleeve shirts, heavy jackets and gloves and we were ready to go. Everything was covered in about 6 inches of snow and it was Dec 24th, so we would have a white Christmas. On Christmas Eve, we always had a big dinner and opened presents as soon as it was dark.
My youngest older brother (I had 3 brothers and 2 sisters, all older) let fly with a snowball that whapped against my ear and stung. Yelling and jumping around, he was so excited that he also let mom have one. Her enthusiasm for the snow and her joy at showing us a near miracle vanished as she ran inside, while taking us to task. So much for education and understanding, we were full of pee and vinegar and had no time for anything but play and mischief. We played all morning and attacked each other and anyone else we saw outside. We continued to stockpile snowballs. In our haste we often scraped too deep and gathered grass, leaves, and dirt along with the snow.
Our older brother Wes was newly married and still had the exuberance of youth and playfulness inside him. He lived within a few blocks of us and made his living as a bricklayer. Of course, we thought he was an old man who knew nothing about snowball fights. When our two older sisters came out to marvel at the snow we were ready. We had stockpiled a dozen snowballs or so each and were waiting. We let them get all the way outside and far from the door—then sprang out trap. At first they made a feeble attempt to fight back, but girls don’t know much about snowballs and, well, they threw like girls. We hammered them with snowballs packet tight and hard, we slaughtered them, we mudererated ‘em; screaming and begging us to stop, they stumbled and ran to the front door. Their Christmas sweaters were wet and soggy, hair mussed and wet; they were whining and complaining. Total victory!
Mom stuck her head out the front door, and amid a volley of snowballs she told us to come in and get ready for dinner. “Wes and Mary will be here soon and dinner will be ready shortly” she hollered just before a snowball hit the door and showered her with ice and grass, and mud. Two remarkable things happened. After years of scolding us and even washing our mouths out with soap for cursing and yelling at us not to slam the door; mom let fly a curdling scream of “dammit!” and slammed the door so hard it sounded like an explosion. I was stunned, but my older brother Larry just laughed and took the opportunity to smack me in the ear again with a huge snowball. I started to cry but he said “Shut up sissy, I see Wes and Mary coming.” We ran to our snow forts to ambush them.
Wes was carrying a huge box of presents and Mary was dressed in her finest. They strode right across the lawn headed for the front door. My brother jumped up screaming “Let ‘em have it!” We ran towards them throwing snowballs and screaming threats.
The strangest thing happened. Mary squealed and ran to the front door. But Wes sat the big box down, grabbed some snow, started making snowballs, and as he dodged our snowballs laughed and said “So you wanna fight, huh?”
That 6’4” bricklayer had huge, strong hands and packed hard snowballs the size of grapefruit. He also threw like Bob Feller. After being hit hard with one or two of those huge, hard, snowballs we tried to run, but those long legs caught one of us and then the other and pounded us. We were screaming “We give up, we give up.” Wes laughed and came over to us and said “Had enough huh?” “Yes”, we whimpered as we tried to rub our faces and ears where those giant snowballs had smashed into us. I was trying to hold back tears but was snuffling. He good naturedly rubbed my head and said “It’s ok. But don’t challenge ole Wes to a snowball fight until you are big enough not to cry.” He picked up his box of presents and went walking into the house.
I had enough. But my brother called me a sissy and convinced we could get even with Wes. Foolish and 3 years younger than him, I was soon back in the fight. We climbed up on the carport roof and stockpiled more snowballs. We also rolled some in the snow until we had an assortment from golf ball-sized up to two, medicine balled-sized ones we called atomic bombs. The plan was to lure Wes back outside and hit him with atomic bombs first and then plaster him good from the safety of the rooftop. We had hidden the ladder out of sight in back of the house and were ready.
Larry snuck down and around to the front door, went in, snuck up behind where Wes was sitting and poured a big handful of snow right down his shirt collar. Back through the front door, slamming it and running around to the ladder, he joined me in front just as Wes came out. We didn’t know that our sisters had been crying and told him about all we did to them. He must have seen it as his duty to take care of boys that would bully their sisters and make them cry. This time he was mad. He looked up and said “Damn it you little bastards, I’m gonna teach you a lesson this time.”
That’s when we dropped the A bombs. We were stunned at how easily he dodged our ultimate weapons and even more shocked when he did a pull up on the carport roof and swung his leg up on the roof. We ran and kicked snow in his face and tried to push him back down.
It didn’t work. He was up on the roof in a second and grabbed me and said “Now you’re gonna get a snow shampoo.” A snow shampoo is much worse than it sounds. It’s like a noogie where big knuckles rub your head until its on fire and then continue forever. A snow shampoo is cold, wet, is all over your head and ears, and it smarts and burns like fire and freezing cold. It also went on until I was crying and screaming “I give up! I give up!” After that, it was time to shampoo my face; using rough hands and cold snow. Neither “I give ups”, nor screaming, crying, snot, and tears could stop it. Larry saw what was happening and down the ladder he went to hide somewhere.
Finally, Wes stopped, looked around for Larry, and jumped off the carport roof. After I stopped crying, blew my nose, and tried to comb my hair with my fingers, I climbed down the ladder and went inside. My mother saw I had been crying and was instantly angry, she marched me into the living room and right to my dad and said “Look at this, look at Wes has done to him!” “Do something about it.” She said and turned and went back in the kitchen.
My dad asked me to stand in front of him and started asking questions. The facts came out. Yes, I did attack my sisters and make them cry; yes, I did hit my mother’s face with snow and mud; yes, I did have a fair snowball fight with Wes and gave up and promised not to throw any more snowballs; yes, I broke my word and had another snowball fight with Wes. I finished by saying “But dad, he gave me a snow shampoo!” Snickers and then laughter filled the room. Trying not to laugh, my dad said through a big grin “Well son, now you know how it feels to be punished by someone bigger and stronger than you. You also know how your sisters and mom felt. No one likes a bully, son. But thanks for telling the truth.”
About that time, Larry came sneaking in with a big grin. Dad shook his finger and said to him. “Son, I know you were in on it, and probably even made your little brother do what he did. I was not happy to hear you ran away when your brother was getting what he deserved. In fact, I am disappointed in you. Now both of you go and get cleaned up for dinner.”
It was a great Christmas. We all talked and thanked each other for the presents. Mom said to Wes and Mary. “You did way too much, and you spoiled the boys something awful with all those presents.” Then, everyone went back to talking and the adults had eggnog. We played with our new toys and when it was time for bed, Wes called me over, picked me up, and let me sit in his lap. He asked me if I wanted some eggnog. Mom said, “Now Wes, you know that’s spiked.” Dad said softly, “Let him have some eggnog and visit with his brother a bit before he has to go to bed too.” I looked around the room and Larry was gone. Everyone started talking again. Wes gave me a sip of eggnog, hugged me to him, and told me he had fun with the snowball fights.
It wasn’t until some years later that someone mentioned I was Wes’s favorite, and it hit me like only the truth can. I thought to myself, gee, I wish it would snow at Christmas again.