Holiday Cheer
 

No wreath graced a door, no tree sat on a desk or counter in the warehouse or office that party day that I recall. Maybe the civilian gals wore brooches, sweaters, or blouses embroidered with Christmas scenes. Cookies and cake, a case of beer, a bottle briefly well hidden in a drawer or bin? I’m not clear, could have been under the weather already when a mechanic popped in from Transportation to call me outside. Shorty was his name and his face might as well have been a reflection on a paw-rapped ornament the way it disappeared as I fell against a wall, slid to the ground as if I’d been shot after draining what remained in his fruit jar of shine. No reports of ugly scenes or anyone playing the fool at that Christmas party. Not me, I knew that for sure the way guys from the South patted my back, proud of how I’d survived. Shorty’s lunar launch and my slick reentry. That was gift enough for a sailor aged twenty, with no holiday plans.
 

Thomas M. McDade is a 77-year-old resident of Fredericksburg VA. He is an old sailor who often reaches back to those days.

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