© 2000, 2001 Channel49___

Five hundred Christmas trees were all we had. Some of them were stumpy looking, like little folks who had a hard time last year: Summers too hot, winters too cold and not enough rain. Or too much smoke from the highway and the factory on the other side. Though that plant had already been closed. It was pretty cold, early that December. Bitter breezes cleared the air.

Dad said we could dig the trees from the ground and sell them that way. Just say 'good-bye' knowing they'll be planted elsewhere. Growing taller in suburbs and fine estates. Being fed plant food and cared for by gardeners or nice ladies with cotton gloves on. --Not fighting the weeds on that humpy bit of ground. But, Dad tried to dig one tree out, once. It took a long time to do and it hurt his back. No one bought it. A single tree by the roadside, its roots half-chopped and covered with burlap. The cars just went by. A few days later Dad tried to replant it but it wouldn't take. It sat in its old hole and leaned a bit. Then its needles turned brown and it died. Finally, Dad pulled it loose. That time it came out of the earth like a stick. A stick that my little brother, Younger, could pull out of the ground.

I told Dad that nobody would buy any of those trees. Just like the one that died. But Dad said, put up a banner and some lights; '500 XMAS trees for sale!' And they'll be gone in no time. And we'll have a field with lots of stumps and nothing else. Nothing but the money we'll make. And Dad said we need the money that the trees will bring. You see, all we had were those five hundred Christmas trees.

Dad used to work at the plant as a senior inventory expediter for years. Then after it closed he helped Uncle Rich in the deli---till Uncle Rich died. Aunt Mae closed the deli and we had to leave the bungalow and move into the little trailer on a piece of wooded property that Aunt Mae owned. There wasn't much to do. Not inside. The nights were quiet. Younger did his homework and then Dad and he watched T.V. hour after hour. I still had my hobby --the only one left. I wrote this journal. Oh yes, I almost forgot: Aunt Mae gave Dad the right to sell the trees, if he wanted.

Afternoons on Sunday are always sad. The time may be free but the new week keeps coming closer.

On the far side of the trailer where the trees were little, there was a small area that was almost level. Dad had told us that a house had been there years ago.

Younger wanted to fly his kite from that spot. He asked me to put it together for him. The kites were the last thing Uncle Rich ever gave us.

The wind was chasing clouds across the sky. Dad had told us that winds like that came from the top of the world.

"I bet the kites will go up for a mile," Younger said.

"What if the string isn't strong enough?" I asked. And if a kite came down on the highway, or dropped and snagged on the taller pines -- besides being dangerous, I felt uneasy about wrecking the kite.

"Wait till next summer," I told him, "-- or the spring."

"What!"

"It could get ruined here. It could even cause an accident," I told him.

"What else is there to do? I'll put it together myself," he said.

Dad bounced the old pick up truck toward the trailer sputtering dirt clouds from the many ruts surrounding the property. We ran after him.

He had been shopping and returned with his usual assortment of canned foods. Beans. Garbanzo beans, kidney beans and beans-beans. And twelve cans of tuna fish. We helped him bring the groceries inside.

"Ugh!" Younger said of the tuna fish, "This kind smells like kitty food." But according to Dad, tuna fish had lots of low-fat, 'protein' in it and was good for you. Besides, this kind was on SALE. So as long as the weather stayed cool we would pack tuna fish sandwiches all week for school lunches. I set the kites down on the table. Dad looked at them and shook his head.

Younger and I went outside, again, to play.

"Mommy never made lunches the way Daddy does. Mommy always put chips and candy in our lunches. Daddy gives us two sandwiches and an apple," Younger complained. "All that sandwich stuff makes me gag."

"So trade it away," I told him.

"Who wants tuna fish?"

I shrugged. "Let's play that we're forest trackers searching for a lost gold mine," I suggested.

"Naw, it's getting too late..."

Younger didn't like to get too far away from Dad on the weekends. As if he would get lost on our little field.

He pulled the top off one of the pumpkins on the steps. We had hollowed out a few extra but only made two of them into jack-o'-lanterns.

"It's probably rotten on the bottom," I told him.

"Just cold." He settled down next to it for a minute but then went inside.

I trotted toward the setting sun thinking of a game I could play by myself.

On the other side of the field near Mulberry Street I looked for someone to play with. Sometimes, the kids from town walked that way to and from the creek.

There was no one around and I went back to the trailer. I saw Younger coming out of the door with a large pitcher of kool aid.

He carefully walked down the steps, one-at-a-time, till he reached the pumpkin. Slowly he lowered the pitcher to pour the kool aid into the hollow pumpkin.

"Younger! What are you doing?! Don't put kool aid in the pumpkin," I said.

"It's not kool aid, dummy."

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's Jello."

"Jello?!"

"Yes," He said, "I'm making a pumpkin pie."

I was astounded. "Dad!" I yelled. "You gotta see this."

We would eat jello all next week, I knew. I hoped it was a good flavor.

**

Monday was school again. Dad walked us, but I was too old to be walked, so I speeded up.

"What's your hurry Ol'?" Dad asked.

"He's too cool," Younger said.

"Button your coat," Dad advised.

"Not that kind of cool...To be seen with us," Younger said.

"Oh," Dad answered.

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to be walked, did I? --I thought Younger could walk by himself also, but Dad wanted something to do.

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