Most of my High School stories involve four young men: my brother, BFG (Big Friendly Giant), Bigfoot (my blond brother from another mother and BFG's almost identical twin), Nicky boy (my favoritest cousin), and Major (my godbrother and one of my oldest friends). Those four created a lot of great memories and even more great stories. This is one of them.
In the days following every party we ever had from Junior High to present, Major swore he wasn't going to spend the night. Usually, we ended up with BFG on the floor, Bigfoot on BFG's bed, Nicky Boy in a lounge chair, and Major on the couch crooning to his pillow. Somehow whenever they got together they never could get around to leaving.
At the end of one such weekend it was decided by the parental units that we would have an early dinner, hit the sinner's mass (the very last chance to fulfill the Sunday obligation), and then take everybody home. Amazingly, Major had brought a change of clothes with him (which was amusing because he always planned to not spend the night) so he didn't smell the same way he did when he had arrived Friday night.
Dinner was hot dogs and juice and like usual we were in a hurry because the fast before Mass was swiftly approaching. As we were sitting around eating dinner, Bobby (my second youngest brother) made his way around the table carrying a gallon size jug of apple juice. To this day I am not certain if it was an accident or on purpose, but abruptly the apple juice fell and spilled all over Major. Major being a sensible sort of young man with a cool collected head and generally quick on his feet, immediately jumped up and started sputtering something incomprehensible but that I distinctly remember being very, very high pitched and very, very loud. We, being the sympathetic and loving family and friends, failed to rush to his aid but did find the comedy in the situation and therefore started laughing.
Major wasn't amused. Yet, he still managed to march inside, change into his only other pair of dry pants and then proceeded to finish dinner with the rest of us, which was a mistake. Not five minutes had passed when Bobby spilled ketchup on Major. And the squawking continued.
After we all managed to pick ourselves off the floor (it was very funny) Major took my Mother aside and informed her that he was now lacking in pants and we were due to go to Mass in less than an hour. Mother, secretly being a superhero, reassured the poor lad, disappeared upstairs, and returned moments later with a pair of denim shorts. This was appropriate attire for Mass in Southern California.
Major left to try them on and returned in amazement that she had found his size. Then he was curious. BFG was too wide to fit into those pants and the next smallest brother was far too short to fit into those pants. Who could they possibly belong to? Of course Major would have to voice this aloud in front of the entire group. I saw Mother disappear. I saw the her return. I saw the shorts on Major. And still, I could not believe that Major and I, who had a foot and half height gap, wore the same size pants. And yet, we did. And then Mother told everyone.
I don't know who was more mortified- Major or myself. Either which way, I was exceedingly glad when he took them home with him and didn't return them until after puberty. Ah, thank God for little miracles.
No comments:
Post a Comment