December 7, 1956
THE SALEMITE
Page Five
Father Knows Mistletoe Best
'i
By Toni Gill
As I drew an old pair of Daddy’s
long underwear onto my legs, I
silently wished that this afternoon
was over. My sister, Joanne, who
was eighteen, was rummaging
through the large, built-in drawers
in our room looking for some
gloves.
“I don’t see why we have to do
this every year!” she complained.
“It means so much to Daddy and
Bobbie,” I explained for the twelfth
time that day, “and it’s only for
one afternoon.”
“You just wait,” she warned.
“Something always goes wrong, and
today will be no exception!”
I knew she was right. Every
Christmas Eve it was the same
thing. Come rain, snow, or ice, the
Gills would get their mistletoe on
Christmas Eve afternoon. There
was never any legitimate reason
for staying home and being warm
and cozy. We had to go five milel
down the river in an out-board
motor boat and shoot mistletoe
Out of the tops of the trees lining
the shores of the many creeks.
Mama calls it a family tradition.
She never goes with us.
It was two o’clock when Joanne
and I trudged down our front walk
and across the road to the boat
house. Daddy, Bobbie and Pepper
were already there. Bobbie is my
nine-year-old sister, and Pepper is
our 'eight-3^ear-old Dalmatian. Jo
anne, Bobbie, and Pepper crowded
into the front seat. Bobbie, who
is usually excited when we start
one of these things, was sulking
because Mama had made her w^ear
a hat. I handed Daddy his gun,
the long-handled clippers, and the
paddle, and got in beside him on
the back seat. We got out of the
boat house without scraping the
sides of the boat any more than
usual, and Daddy pushed the auto
matic starter. Nothing happened.
Joanne turned around and gave me
that “w-ell, here we go again” look.
I nodded and looked heavenward.
“Push the starter,” I heard
Daddj^ say. I looked back at him.
He had his hand stuck in the
motor. I have no idea what he
was doing, but I was afraid I would
electrocute him if I pushed that
little button. Rather than have
him lose his temper though, I
pushed the button. Surprisingly
enough, the motor started, and we
went skimming over the water.
That icy wind cut right through
the pounds of clothes we had on.
When the spray, from an extra
large wave hit me squarely in the
face, I gave up trying to be ^com
fortable.
It took us fifteen minutes to get
to the place w'here the river nar
rows and divides into the various
creeks. Daddy slowed the motor
and turned into the first one we
came to. The idea was for all of
us to scan the shore of that muddy,
briar-infested wilderness and find
some mistletoe. But not just any
mistle-toe. It had to be thick and
green and full of white berries. It
really wasn’t hard to find though.
I don’t think anyone ever explored
these places except us. We soon
spotted some and turned towards
the shore.
Since the tide was unusually low,
we couldn’t pull the boat close
enough in to shore to get out on
dry land. Daddy had on boots that
came up to his knees, so he got
out to wade in. I heard a squish,
and a strange expression came on
Daddy’s face. The smelly mud was
deeper than he had figured and was
seeping down into his boots. Daddy
resolutely shouldered his gun and
started for shore. He reminded me
of the soldiers^ I had seen in war
movies trudging through tropical
jungles. Of course he didn’t look
exactly like a Hollywood soldier-
hero. He didn’t have lots of un
ruly black hair falling over flash
ing blue eyes. His gray hair was
covered by a red hunting cap, and
his brown eyes looked through
horn-rimmed glasses. But he was
just as determined as the toughest
of the glamour boys.
When he had gone only a few
feet from shore, the underbrush
hid him from sight. We knew
which tree he w'as headed for
though, and we watched the large
piece of mistle-toe clinging to its
top branch as we heard the shot
from Daddy’s gun. It didn’t budge.
Bobbie stuck her fingers in her
ears because she said the loud
noise scared her. When she re
moved her fingers, she found that
one of her ears had stopped up.
She started whining and demanded
that I do something about it. Now
how could I possibly un-stop her
ear while sitting in a boat up a
creek in the dead of winter? Be
sides, I was trying, without much
success, to keep the boat from
drifting away from the shore wdth
the canoe paddle. I told her to
yawn, but she said she wasn’t
deepy. She was still complaining
when, eleven shots later, the mistle
toe came tumbling down and Daddy
made his way back to the boat.
Within an hour the boat was so
full of mistle-toe we couldn’t move
for fear of knocking the berries
off of a piece of it. Daddy still
didn’t think we had enough. We
had to supply all the neighbors too.
Joanne called Daddy’s attention
to a piece hanging out over the
creek which looked as if we could
reach up and break it off by stand
ing in the boat. When we got
under it we realized that it was
much higher than we had realized.
Daddy had to stand on the top of
the bow of the boat and stretch
up with the long-handled clippers
to reach it. Even then he could
only reach it when a wave raised
the boat a few inches. Bobbie
picked this moment to brust out
with “Joy to the World” in her
piercing, monotone voice. This al
most scared Daddy off his perch,
and he bellowed something about
keeping the boat still. Sure thing.
All we had to do was make those
waves stop lapping against the
sides. Pepper must have gotten
over-excited. Anyway, she lost her
lunch all over the boat. By this
time Joanne was doubled up with
fits of laughter. I got the old rag
that Daddy used to wipe out the
inside of the boat, cleaned up Pep
per’s mess, and threw it, rag and
all, over-board. By now Daddy
looked as if he were trying to hang
himself with the vines that were
dangling from the tree, tears were
streaming down Joanne’s face, and
“Joy to the World” was sounding
less and less angelic. I just stared
at Pepper, hoping that she didn’t
have, any lunch left in her unset
tled stomach. The piece of mistle
toe and Daddy fell unto the boat
at the same time. Fortunately the
mistle-toe fell on top of Daddy so
not much of the berries fell off.
Finally we were ready to start for
home!
A short while later we rounded
that last bend. The boat house
never looked so good. While we
were still a long way from shore,
the motor stopped. Instinctively
our gazes fell on the gas gauge.
Empty. That canoe paddle got
smaller and smaller and the boat,
larger and larger as Daddy, Jo
anne, and I took turns paddling in
against the current.
Mama was standing on the pier
waving and shouting, “Merry
Christmas,” as we pulled into the
boat house. I took one look at
the expression of pride on Daddy s
face when she exclaimed how
beautiful the mistle-toe was this
year. Next Christmas Eve we
would go again. This was “Daddy s
Christmas, adventure” with his girls.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
AND
HAPPY NEW YEAR
To All Salemites
From
Miss
Junior
0%o]s
Eegular &
Tall Fashions
For That Special Boy’s
Christmas Gift
. /flrp^ Vort
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