Johnny Rosenberg showed me a picture of one...

“Do we have to go?” Whined twelve year old Christopher, approximately five minutes into their car ride, mimicking an imaginary five year old baby sister. It wasn't that Christopher didn't want to go upstate to see his beloved Auntie June.  She was probably his favorite person in the whole wide world, although he wasn't sure why. Christopher just didn't like boredom, and being annoying was always sure to cure.

“Yes we have to go.”  Commanded Christopher's father.  “It's Christmas for Christ's sake.  We always go to Auntie June's for Christmas.  And knock off that girly voice already. Man up.”

“Harry! Piped in Christopher's mother. “Do not use the Lord's name in vain in front of the boy! Especially on Christmas!  It wasn't an hour ago you shook Father O'Clancey's hand. How many hail Mary's would he give you now? Huh? How many Harry?”

As he gazed out the window at the windy road ahead and the bare imposing trees with nothing much else to do, Christopher continued to feel a certain melancholy and he decided to blame the dry pavement. The ride to Aunt June's was much more enjoyable when the precipitation cooperated.  And the dryness was not just outside the car, it was also inside of the 1965 Ford Fairlane station wagon. Literally. Christopher's father gave up on the Ford service department’s promises when they guaranteed the back seat drivers side door leak was fixed after the umpteenth time. Christopher never considered sitting on that side on dry days, and he was quite comfortable with that decision.  Without the precip, he knew he'd be responsible for creating the drama to stave off boredom and he was okay with that, but it was so much more fun to see how obnoxiously anxious his mother would get with snow and ice on the ground and condensation creeping into the car. Like last year.

“Harry I thought I told you to get the leak fixed once and for all.  You never follow through with anything. How would you feel if I didn't follow through with making you dinner every night!  The boy is literally gonna drown back there. Look at him. He looks like a prune.”

“Stop exaggerating Gladys.  Really. Look at him. The boy is fine.  You’re fine Christopher, right?” Christopher shook his head in a circle defiantly, noncommittally, hoping for more drama with a smile on his face, and laughter rising in his chest.

“HARRY! SLOW DOWN! YOU'RE GONNA GET US ALL KILLED!”

“Pipe down already Gladys.   Haven't I gotten us over to Fayetteville year after year in one piece?  You worry too much. Ya know they say worry ages you Gladys. You oughta think ’bout that next time you look in the mirror.”

“Are you saying I look old Harry?  Are ya? Look who's talking Mr. Comb-over Second Trimester.  I'll give you directions to Bob's Big ’N Tall shop cross town. Your gonna need to know how to get there soon.”

“Ouch Gladys.  Ouch.”

“HARRY I SAID SLOW DOWN OR I'M GONNA JUMP OUTA THE CAR.  I SWEAR!”

“Don't swear Gladys.  What would Father O'Clancey say?  And you in the back seat. Christopher James O'Hennesey. Pipe down. Stop laughing already. You know the 10 commandments.   Honor your mother and father.”

Christopher always laughed harder when his father would pull out the ten commandments card in the car, because he knew his father would never take the time to pull over on the side of the road and smack him in the back of the head as he would at the dinner table.  Christopher knew his limitations yet always flirted with the boundaries. In school too. For an odd reason, this year, in spite of his antics he was Mrs. Novak's teacher's pet. How could he know he was getting away with murder only because he looked very much like her first crush?  She would take that fact to her grave and truthfully she wasn't even fully cognizant of that notion herself, constantly overlooking Christopher's classic class clown buffoonery to the surprise of witnessing fellow students. The O'Hennesey’s on the other hand were absolutely thrilled at the reports coming home after years of negative behavioral reports and warnings.  Little did they know, the difference duly noted was only in the eye of the beholder, Mrs. Novak. Christopher was his same old high jinky self.

“Are we there yet?” Christopher said about five minutes later in the same Betty Boopish voice, drawn out in a snicker.  There were still three hours left before their ETA and he needed more drama with clear skies ahead.

“CHRISTOPHER!  Knock it off or I swear I'll pull the car over and give you what for!”

Christopher remained quiet for the rest of the ride, becoming somewhat comfortable in his dry boredom, just because he suddenly felt like giving into it, not because he really believed his father would pull the car over. Besides. The smack on the back of the head never hurt, he would just pretend it did to gin up tension.  Christmas’, Thanksgivings’, birthdays’, or even on days like Grampy's funeral, Christopher did and said what Christopher felt like doing and saying, but never at Auntie June's. Something about her was worth minding his p’s and q's.

When they pulled up to Aunt June's cottage in the backwoods, the three of them felt nostalgic about Christmas’ past without verbalizing their shared thoughts.  The crackling fireplace, the Nat King Cole carols, the stuffed turkey and pumpkin pie were all worth the anticipation. Aunt June didn't have much to offer, but she always offered up her best with a warm smile, great food and honey bear hugs.  Never having children of her own, her grand nephew Harry and his family meant everything to her, and she always worked hard for weeks before their visit on decorating, cooking and her menial hand crafted gifts from the heart. Aunt June heard them before she saw them, since the gravel drive to her home always alerted her to visitors.  

Jumping up from her rocker as best as her old bones would cooperate, she smoothed her grey bob and food stained apron before gleefully throwing the front door agape.  

“Welcome family, welcome and Merry Christmas!”  Genuine kisses on multiple cheeks were exchanged and the wafting aroma was everything anticipated and more.  It was their custom to open presents first before the meal since the birth of Christopher, and none of them found any reason to break with that tradition.  Christopher knew not to expect much, and had never been rude to Aunt June by showing any displeasure. He truly loved her, but occasionally he couldn't help himself from sarcastically commenting about her gifts to his parents on the ride home.  Like last year.

“Wouldn't you say I'm a tad old for a bib.”

“Christopher.  Knock it off. It's not a bib, it's a tie.”

“It looks like a bib to me and I'm never gonna wear it.”  

It really did look more like a bib than a tie.  Sarcasm is after all based on truth.

From the moment they would arrive, he was always treated as the king in her castle and in return he always complimented Aunt June, especially on her hand painted wrapping, truly in awe of her talent and work ethic. She would save paper bags from the grocery store and make homemade paint from flour and salt cooked down with various colorful plants from her garden like beets, kale and carrots. The package he held was small, yet the wrapping delicately depicted a nativity scene and his name was printed underneath in Old English lettering.  

“This is beautiful Aunt June.  Do I have to open it?” It was not just the beautiful wrapping he didn't want to disturb.  It was more about not wanting to reach deep for a compliment over another one of Aunt June's gifts he was never going to use.  Christopher was best at being Christopher, and even though he'd always been able to hold his tongue with Auntie June, his palms were getting a little moist at the thought of slipping and hurting her feelings.

“Go ahead open it son.  It's not much, but I made it with love.  I hope you will use it and think of me when you do.”  Said Aunt June with pride and the abundant love she felt for the young man who represented the closest she’d ever get to a being a grandmother.

Slowly, Christopher opened up the work of art, somewhat holding his breath wet handed, to declare after what seemed like five minutes, but was actually less than one, “But Auntie June, aren't I too young to use this, and if you don't mind me asking, when I’m old enough for sex, why would I want to think of you when I use a condom?”

“Christopher James O'Hennesey.   Apologize to your Aunt June right now,” hollered Gladys embarrassingly.  She couldn't tell him to go to his room like she would at home. He'd sleep that night where he'd always slept since his first Christmas, near the wood burning stove in the parlour they now occupied.   Only he hadn't slept in the heirloom cradle for years and years, but in a tattered sleeping bag that once belonged to Aunt June's dearly departed husband, the grandfather he never met.

“What did I say wrong?  Johnny Rosenberg showed me a picture of one last week.  He said men use them when they don't want their wives to get pregnant.   I'm not being a wise guy, really I'm not. I'm sorry Auntie June but if this is not a condom, what is this?”

“It's an egg cozy Christopher," wiping the laughter from her eyes. "You put it on your boiled egg to keep it warm.  Perhaps I should have used another color yarn other than tan, and you might not have jumped to that conclusion.  It's okay Christopher. No harm. Actually now that you mention it, it kinda does look like a condom. Hopefully not a reusable one!  And even if you are joking, honey I love your sense of humor. Reminds me of my dearly departed father, your Great Grampy Mick. He and I used to rag on each other all the time just for the fun of it.  Your old Meemaw never liked us goin at it, but I say no harm, no foul. We could all use more laughter in our lives, even at the expense of others, without malice of course.”

And with that the family of four doubled over in hysterics, relieving any tension left in the room, so much so that Christopher's father automatically lost his urge to walk across the room to smack him on the back of his head.

The ride home was again dry and surprisingly drama free, for Christopher was able to busy himself the whole drive home replaying in his mind an image of Johnny Rosenberg’s reaction after he'd pull out of his pocket on the schoolyard the most cherished useless gift yet from good ole Auntie June.