Let's Exonerate The INTRUDER!

Here's another post from Christmas 2000. Contrast my Christmas as a six year old (approximately 6) with that of JonBenet:

..........................................................................................................

When I was a kid ... with Qtips for arms ... my Dad taught me to make fudge.

Nuthin' in the world tasted soOOoooo good. It melted in the mouth. Even us kids learned the TRUE meaning of "savor". Every morsel was coveted.

My Dad mixed up batches of this stuff ... by hand. It was his "gift" at Xmas ... to the family and friends.

Such a simple gift.

It was ALWAYS my Dad's gift at Christmas. We ALL LOVED it ... and never, EVER truly appreciated it.

The fudge was ... well ... very hard work. Ya had to beat the smit out of it ... by hand. ... and ya had to listen to the stories.

There always seemed to be a convenient break in the story/recipe when my stirrin' arm turned to silly putty.

Taste tests ... and evaluations followed.

"Is it smooth enough?", asked Dad? Not bad, said I.

"What do ya think ... let it relax for a while?" yep.

I remember my Dad's hand on mine ... on that wooden spoon.

I remember the tone of his storytelling ...

I remember his scent...

I remember his kiss on my hand ... and my foreheard ... when he said, "I think it's ready".

We DID IT!!!

Dad and I worked our asses off this Chritsmas. We laughed so hard it hurt. And we put a little bit of ourselves into every piece of fudge we made.

My Dad has NEVER made a finer batch of fudge. It was just a moment. It will last an eternity.

...DimWit


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Stark contrast to being sexually abused, garroted, and bludgeoned to death on Christmas night, eh?


...YumYum

 

Dim, that is one great story.

You are a poet.

 

...and don't forget the colostomy bag.