“Dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleigh over the fields we go laughing all the way.”
While some of you might think I’m taking a joy ride through a snowy landscape with friends, others may imagine I’m on a romantic outing with that special someone, keeping warm with a cozy Afghan and a cup of hot chocolate.
Nevertheless, you’d be wrong on both counts.
As a mild-mannered eighth-grader, my friends and I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where to find a one-horse open sleigh, and I didn’t have anything even close to a girlfriend.
However, I couldn’t get the festive lyrics to “Jingle Bells” out of my head while making a one-of-a-kind, aluminum alloy, miniature-sized sleigh in eighth grade metal shop.
The previous year, I gave my mother a wall-hanging wooden candlestick holder for Christmas; but this year, there would be a shiny new ornament she could add to the sprawling miniature village underneath our decorated Douglas fir, standing in front of the living room picture window.
I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she opened it Christmas morning.
When Mom brought down all the storage boxes chock-full of Christmas decorations from the upstairs knee-wall attic at the beginning of December, she decided to dispose of an old, worn-out dining room table centerpiece that featured a plastic Santa Claus on a sleigh filled with a wide variety of colorful gifts in many shapes and sizes.
With a Cheshire cat grin splashed across my face as I opened the garbage can lid to throw away scraps from a bedtime snack, you’d have thought there was a bar of gold from Fort Knox, Kentucky, starring me in the face.
“Holy Toledo,” I exclaimed, pulling the discarded piece of Christmas past from the wastepaper basket. “We’re making a miniature sleigh in metal shop soon, so I can repurpose this Big Man in Red and a few of these gifts for my special project.”
Immediately after grabbing the scissors from the silverware drawer next to the kitchen sink, I quickly removed my selected pieces and stuffed them into my jeans pocket before running up the enclosed L-shaped staircase to hide the newly found treasures inside my sleeping quarters.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just robbed a candy store,” chuckled my big brother, glancing up from an episode of The Love Boat on our 13-inch black-and-white television set next to his bed.
“Close, but no cigar,” I quipped, explaining why it seemed like I had just eaten an entire bowl of sugar. “While throwing away my cupcake wrappers and napkin, I found Mom’s old Christmas centerpiece in the trash can, so I saved a few select pieces for my metal shop Christmas project.”
“You’re a garbage collector just like our Uncles Marlin and Ron,” he quipped.
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, so stop dipping in my Kool-Aid,” I retorted.
“By the way,” I remembered, recalling what the dark-haired brunette said moments earlier as I passed through the living room. “Considering we helped Dad shovel snow today, Mom said you better take a bath before bed; otherwise, she’s going to smack you so hard you won’t sit for a week.”
“Maybe I already took a bath,” he said with a mischievous smile.
“I seriously doubt it,” I guffawed, “since I smelled your body odor upon walking into the bedroom.”
“It’s no skin off my back, Sunshine,” teased John, pretending to rub his stinky stench all over me before making a quick exit. “I saw this episode a few weeks ago, so I already know how it ends.”
“Put that in your cake and bake it!” he said, sticking out his tongue.
“Eww,” I responded, waving a hand in front of my face, “you smell like a pair of dirty gym socks left in your school locker for an entire week.”
Shortly after the three musketeers – Robert G. “Robbie” Brough Jr., Robert “Mags” Magnifico and yours truly – entered the industrial arts wing of Lincoln Junior-Senior High School as the bell sounded the following Monday morning, our metal shop teacher, Mr. William “Bill” Harley, introduced our next do-it-yourself project – a sleek red miniature-sized sleigh – with a replica at each workstation throughout the large room in the school’s basement.
“Ooh-ooh-ooooh, Mr. Harley,” shouted Robbie, imitating his favorite Sweathog, Arnold Horshack, from the popular television show Welcome Back, Kotter. “Can we also make eight tiny metal reindeer to attach to the front of the sleigh, with Jolly Old Saint Nick cracking his whip as they take flight from the North Pole?”
“Have you lost your mind?” fumed Mags, who was resistant to doing any more work than necessary to finish their newest project before Christmas break. “How about Mark and I jump this table and pin you to the floor while stuffing a dirty pair of my gym socks down your throat, you snot-nosed bootlicker.”
“Who are you, Spiderman?” I asked with bulging eyes, glancing at the black-haired Italian standing to my left. “I seriously doubt that I can even jump across this industrial worktable, let alone attempt to hold that jack-in-the-box to the floor.”
“Take a chill pill, fellas,” stated our esteemed educator, trying to bring down the temperature of our heated discussion. “If Mr. Brough has the proper tools at home, I’ll gladly give him an extra sheet of metal to create his additional items; but you boys will only be required to make the sleigh that’s sitting on your table.”
“Did you boys happen to eat a whole pack of gummy worms before coming to class?” the teacher added.
The redhead and I both pointed our fingers at the top cop’s youngest son.
“Thanks a lot, girls,” snapped the leader of the pack, wondering how two of his closest companions could give him up so easily. “You two knuckleheads would never hold up under a police interrogation if we ever robbed the First National Bank at Fifth Street and Lawrence Avenue.”
“If we robbed a bank,” I mentioned with a sarcastic tone, “it would be splashed all over the front page of the Ellwood City Ledger — Local police chief’s offspring and his posse behind bars after Dillinger-style heist.”
This close-knit trio broke into laughter just thinking about the absurdity of the would-be headline.
Once the metal shop class began our newest undertaking, I shared my plans for the discarded holiday centerpiece with our resident Highlander; and his bright green eyes lit up just like my mother’s did when she opened that very special gift on Christmas morning.