It was about this time last year, when Stacee (@book_junkee), over at Adventures of a Book Junkie, invited me over to share one of my favorite holiday traditions with her readers...You guys, it was great fun! So much fun that I thought I'd share the post here with you all this year. (And no, I'm not just sharing because I'm busy writing and have shoved blogging to the back burner. Nope. Not at all. *shakes head defiantly.*)
Hope you enjoy....
GET YOUR OWN BEEBEE GUN!
A Christmas tale of
tradition, by Bethany Crandell
June 22, 1985.
The Slip ‘n Slide was in
place; staked at the corners with the hose secured to the plastic ring up top, and
a little dishwashing soap added for extra speed. Eight prize bags were lined up
on the basement ping pong table, each one bursting with Smarties, cinnamon
gummy bears and more worthless trinkets than a garage sale. After much
pleading, Mom agreed to order Domino’s (delivery pizza, such an exciting new
concept!) and buy soda that, for once, didn’t say SHASTA on the side of the
can. All the makings for a great tenth birthday party were in place…especially
when you considered my movie of choice for the big event.
Though it was the first day
of summer, my friends were about to be introduced to what I consider one of the
greatest films of all time: A CHRISTMAS STORY. I fell in love with this quirky
and relatively unknown (at the time) flick the first time I saw it. Obviously, Ralphie’s
unrelenting determination to own a gun that would shoot his eye out was
entertaining, but it was the off-beat performances delivered by his supporting
cast members that left the biggest impression on me. Little brother who’s
bundled up in so many layers that he looks like a tick about to pop? Yes!
Turkey-obsessed father who drops F-bombs at the drop of a hat? DOUBLE YES! Triple Dog Dares?! YES, YES, YES! This movie
has some of the best characterization caught on film, which is why my little
heart broke into a thousand pieces when I slid the tape into the VCR and my
so-called friends pulled up their snoots, promptly stating they’d rather jump
on the trampoline than watch this weird, fifties movie.
Despite my friends’ obvious
stupidity and my very vulnerable emotional state, I continued to profess my
love for this film. On occasion I would encounter someone who appreciated it
the way I did, but mostly I was met with judgmental scowls and confused
expressions followed by, “I’ve never heard of that.” By the time I reached my mid-twenties, I’d
determined that A CHRISTMAS STORY was destined to be my first cult-classic mistress.
The secret lover I’d visit when I needed a pick-me up, or a reminder of how
charming a mundane life could be. It was just me and my movie…until 1997 when
TBS came along and exposed the truth.
I probably should have been
grateful for the outing but I wasn’t. I was mad. And resentful. For years I’d
been proclaiming this film’s awesomeness to the world, only to have my words
fall on deaf ears. But after one, twenty-four hour Ted Turner endorsed marathon
suddenly it was a holiday classic that everyone loved…
My secret lover had become a
rent-by-the-hour street walker for all to enjoy.
Sigh.
It took years of grumbles,
TBS protests, and gallons of eggnog, but I’ve finally come to the point in my
life where I can accept 24 Hours of A CHRISTMAS STORY as a Christmas tradition
I’m willing to embrace. Not because I don’t love it as passionately as I did
thirty years ago, I do!, but because I can remind my children for twenty-four
hours straight that for a while I was a lot cooler than the rest of the world.
Merry Christmas, Everyone!
And, please, leave the leg lamp on so I can
find my way home.
