Christmas memories

I wish I had the kind of memory that could reach back in time to when I was 8 years old and remember all the way back to last year, 2015. I don't. I remember bits and pieces, feelings I had, events and images.

One year, probably 1983- 84 when I was going through a horrible adjustment period in my new Randolph life. I had no friends. The other kids didn't seem to like me. I kept to myself. One day I happened to see a book on the spinning book rack at Fernandes Supermarket called, No one Here Gets out Alive. It's fiery orange yellow cover and threatening title grabbed my eye. I bought it with my paper route money. I loved it. It spoke to me. Morrison's loner mentality struck a chord. He made writing poetry cool. I was a closet writer at the time but not poetry. It made me want to be a writer, a poet, a song writer and cool crazy mother fucker. So I started dabbling in drugs. I always wore my hair somewhat long and now I really let it grow. I started sneaking booze from my dad's bar and cigarettes from my mom's carton. My parents observed my change. They knew I was listening to The Doors and totally immersed in a Jim Morrison lifestyle. They weren't happy about it but there really wasn't anything they could do except try and talk to me or just wait it out. The Christmas of 1984 there was only one thing I wanted: An American Prayer. It was a spoken word album combining Morrison's poetry with original music by the band, released posthumously. I knew I wasn't going to get it for Christmas and that I'd have to save my paper route money to get it. Well, after the presents were all revealed, colored wrapping paper torn in balls all over the floor beside the big blinking Christmas tree, my mom pulled the old, "what's that behind the bar" routine. When they brought it over to me I knew it was a record by its size and shape obviously. I held it like a golden egg, somewhat in disbelief. Then I opened it and saw the capital A-- at which point my mom smiled and said to my dad, "I'm not sure if this was a good idea." Eventually this phase of my life would fizzle out and by 1985, though still a fan of Morrison and the Doors, the infatuation was long gone. By 1985, I would meet new friends who would become friends for life. But, I'll always remember that gift and how difficult a decision it must have been for both of them yet they wanted to bring a little enjoyment into my troubled life.