Jim and Mary's Excellent Christmas

     Ten cents a dance/That's what they pay me/Lord don't it weigh me down.

     Saturday night is the loneliest night of the week/'cause it's the night that my Baby and I used to dance cheek to cheek

     See vat za boys in za backroom vil haf/und I vil haf von of da same!

Dad at his pool table 1967

     Some kids' mothers sing lullabies; some kids' mothers sing gospel tunes; some kids' mothers sing love songs. My Mom would occasionally belt out a line from a Depression Era tune like Ten Cents a Dance or the old Frank Sinatra hit Saturday Night is the Loneliest Night of the Week because those tunes amused her, or she'd do a wicked imitation of Marlene Dietrich because Ms Dietrich amused her. Those memories can greatly shape a kid, you know!

     Mostly, though, both my Mom and Dad would sing a line or two from songs they heard on the AM radio back in my early days. They didn't sing along with the song, it was mostly after the song was over, Mom or Dad might continue with one or more of the lines, keeping the tune going.

     Moon River/Wider than a mile/Crossing you in style/Some Day

    More than the greatest love the world has known/This is the love I give to you alone

    The shadow of your smile/When you are gone/Will color all my dreams/And light the dawn (oh my gosh, what a great song!)

     And it was when Mom or Dad sang, that the sound waves would reach every corner of the house and infuse it with a feeling that all is well with the world. A kid can find much comfort in that.

     Back in those days Mom talked often of getting a stereo someday. This was not the set-up that I have mentioned getting for myself years later – a turntable, receiver and speakers. Mom was talking about a single piece of furniture that had everything built-in – quite the fashion at the time – the turntable was built-in, with a radio and some storage space for record albums and then speakers at each end. Because we were not rich, the stereo was always a someday thing, not a have-to-have demand, but more of a wish list item.

     And when Mom spoke of wanting a stereo, Dad would say that some day he would like a pool table. Nothing fancy – just a pool table.

     When we moved to the Zimmerman Road house, the space became available for a stereo at one end or other of the living room, and the basement with its high ceiling was the perfect atmosphere for a pool table – Dad could just picture the hanging bar-room lamp that would be suspended over the pool table. Some day. The stereo and pool table were still both someday.

     Then, in 1967, the year I was in eighth grade, the same year Dad kind of grew a mustache for the sesquicentennial, Mom told us kids that she was getting Dad a pool table for Christmas – she knew someone who could give her a good deal on a used one, and Dad's dream of a pool table some day was really going to happen! Mom was excited, and we were, of course, to keep quiet and not spoil the surprise.

     At the same time, Dad was in the process of getting Mom a stereo for Christmas! He was excited and swore us kids to secrecy. Now when I think back on it, Mom and Dad probably each knew what the other was doing – but I never knew for sure if they did or not – And so it was a most singular holiday season for the whole family as the dates for the arrival of these special gifts got closer and closer.

     The pool table came first –  it would not be delivered on Christmas morning – it would be unrealistic to expect Santa to come down the chimney with it Christmas Eve. I do not remember who Mom got the pool table from or how it got set up – but it was a few days before Christmas, and when Dad came home from work that night, we went to the basement with him to see his reaction to what Santa brought him. That kind of stuff shapes a kid, you know.

     And then the stereo was delivered, also before Christmas. Mom was delighted. I regret not being able to remember the very first album or whether or not Santa brought an album along with the stereo – it might have been the Bing Crosby Christmas album – that would have been a nice touch that Dad would have thought of.

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