NakedSunfish.com - Spontaneous and Sporadic

Blue Thunderbird

by
Rick Brown

I must have been around 11 years old. Christmas 1962. Brother Jimmy would turn 10 a month later. Donny was 8 and little sis Kathy 6. Our poor mother … for more than five straight years … was pretty much always pregnant. It was hardly unusual in those days.

It was a typical family celebration with wrapping paper strewn across the living room floor, the smell of turkey in the oven, and a single strand of tinsel hanging out of the cat’s derrière. We kids had all our gifts open … including the school clothes from a well-intentioned grandmother. My brothers and I were playing with the cap pistols Santa left us while Kathy pulled the string on her new Chatty Cathy … endlessly. The doll had about ten vocal pronunciations she made after a string pull from the center of her back. Unfortunately, these quasi robotic exclamations were not random and she tended to repeat herself … repeatedly.

“May I have a cookie please?” was apparently the Cathy of Chatty - ness’s favorite … much to the delight of the Kathy of String Pulling.

“Stop pointing your guns at your sister” Mom finally instructed.

“WAIT! What’s THIS?” Dad exclaimed while pulling a brightly colored gift from behind his chair. “Santa must have forgot to put it under the tree.”

All four of us got very excited. This was the BIGGEST present of the day. Even Chatty Cathy sat in stunned silence.

Dad handed the gift to me. I read the label out loud.

“From Santa Claus to Ricky, Jimmy, Donny … AND Kathy”. S-H–A-R-I-N-G. A shared gift. The fog of disappointment was palpable.

Our parents immediately encouraged us to open the sharing gift. All four of us enthusiastically tore into the wrapping paper. And much to our relief … at least for us boys … we saw an H. O. scale, 4-lane, Aurora Road Race! Jimmy, Donny and I were ecstatic. Kathy returned her attention to her new friend.

“May I have a cookie please?”

As our father began assembling the racetrack, wiring up individual controls … all the things dads do on Christmas morning … the four of us began our … uh … discussion concerning the cars. There was a black Jaguar XKE, a red Corvette Stingray, a blue Thunderbird and a white Buick Riviera (Buick RIVIERA?). Much to our surprise, Jimmy snatched up the Riviera. Donny grabbed the XKE.

For some reason … which remains a small mystery to me … I was enthralled by Henry and all things Ford at the age of eleven. (Perhaps it was the 5th grade field trip to the Henry Ford Museum I’d recently been on.) And being a Ford man meant I had to HATE Chevys. So, I gladly scooped up the blue T – Bird, leaving the Corvette to Kathy … who at age 6 couldn’t have cared less. She was too enthralled with her new doll.

“May I have a cookie please?”

After maybe 7 or 8 races I became despondent. My siblings’ race cars were competitive. But my blue Thunderbird was a DOG! And to add insult to injury, Kathy’s Corvette Stingray was not only the fastest of all four … but had lapped my Thunderbird a couple times. All this, while she pulled Chatty Cathy’s string in nonchalant indifference to the racing!

I was mortified most of Christmas Day.

Being the oldest, I got to stay up later than Jimmy, Donny and Kathy. And Mom was an early to bed woman. This provided me with a special time with my father which I genuinely valued. I saw him through different eyes at times. So, that night … while watching T.V. with Dad … I complained about my blue Thunderbird being the slowest racecar … a real DOG! And it got lapped by a CHEVROLET!

Dad gave me a look and winked one eye. He stood, strolled over to Mom’s sewing machine and took a tiny screwdriver from the drawer. Kneeling down close to the racetrack, he then picked up the blue Thunderbird and red Stingray. Gently cradling each small vehicle … in its’ turn … in the palm of his hand … Dad meticulously disassembled the body from the chassis on each. He then … carefully exchanged bodies. The Stingray “guts” were now powering my blue Thunderbird … and vice versa. Kathy’s red ‘Vette was now the ‘dog”.

The next morning … while I appreciated not being made fun of … was a mixed blessing. I could compete with Jimmy’s Riviera and Donny’s Jaguar. I appreciated that. But Kathy didn’t give a rat’s ass … as long as she had Chatty Cathy’s magic, talking string to pull. All my victories seemed hallow … albeit a bit more fun than getting lapped.

I ponder this story each year during the holidays. It would be easy to assume my father was teaching me to cheat I suppose. But even as a child I knew him better than that. What I believe I learned from this Christmas is that competition isn’t inherently good. That it isn’t a virtue to be competitive because … like beauty … it’s only skin deep. That winning feels good. Losing feels bad. But it shouldn’t define who you are either way. Not with a game. Not with a toy. That S-H-A-R-I-N-G is … in fact … the virtue.

Or perhaps Dad was just trying to keep the peace.

As I grew older I learned Henry Ford had his merits … but he could be a fascist when he wanted to be. That his assembly line could be efficient … yet dehumanizing to workers. I learned that loving something or someone should not depend on a name … a body style … how fast they run. That a game should be fun.

And just so you know … 5 years later … at the age of 16 … I bought myself a car. Mom and Dad helped of course. And that automobile was a BLUE … 1957 … CHEVY … BEL AIR!!!

And now that my tale is told …

“May I have a cookie PLEASE?”