 Growing up, Christmas didn’t just end on Christmas for us Bauers. No, we had a second Christmas, and it usually started the day after Christmas when we made the journey from Wheeling, WV to New Jersey. My parents sat in the front, Kyle got the middle row, and I had the rear seat all to myself—perfect for the devious, covert operations I conducted in the back row. I’d sneak an Atlas and the Geography Bee practice questions Mr. Weiskircher doled out, so I could grab a few extra hours of studying without anyone noticing. Usually, around Shanksville, I memorized the first five pages and committed to memory the cities and landscapes of North and South America. By the iconic Breezewood exit, I could deliver a 5-star MasterClass on the landmarks, geopolitical regions, and the nuanced history of Europe and Oceania. By the Carlisle rest stop, I had nailed down those pesky geography terms like archipelago, fjords, Richter Scale, and atolls and could write a dissertation-level definition on each. Finally, by 3 Mile Island, where I, of course, knew that a nuclear reactor partially melted down, I was ready for my mom to quiz us on the Bee. Kyle had been doing mindless activities like probably creating New Platson and my dad had been giggling like a schoolgirl to reruns of Howard Stern. Naturally, they would look like fools when it came to the questioning from my mom, and I would shine like the prize child that I was in my mom’s eyes. But, as the story goes, we all know that I would eventually look like the fool as Kyle’s and my dad’s antics paid off. Kyle would go on to claim first place in the Bee, do whole podcast episodes, and create entire lines of merchandise dedicated to New Platson, and my dad would mimic Howard Stern’s high jinks on X (formerly known as Twitter) to amass quite a following. And Kyle would be the twinkle in my mom’s eyes. But as a prepubescent middle schooler, I was in my glory as I stared out the window at signs for the World’s Greatest Indoor Minature Village in Hamburg, PA, and Dorney Park in Allentown imagining all that I would soon accomplish and looking forward to 2nd Christmas when we arrived in Parsippany, New Jersey. Much like Kate and her poop bucket story, the following events of Christmastime traditions that took place in New Jersey could potentially sound made up and absurd. Nonetheless, they have been verified by my brother and dad, who I know might not be the most reliable sources, but rest assured that my cousins also confirmed these happenings to be true. Each year, we would partake in these traditions under the supervision of our fathers while the mothers would shop and have no earthly idea of the shenanigans the Bauer Boys, for men is a stretch of a word to call our dads, would be imparting on our innocent minds. #1 Torture Ray and Judy of Ray and Judy’s Book Stop  Ray and Judy are a lovely couple who own a quaint bookshop in Rockaway, NJ. The store sells a variety of intricacies that we loved to browse: baseball cards, gag gifts, Chicken Soup for the Soul, paper dolls, and Hank books. Who is Hank? Hank is a man whose day consists of going to work, coming home, and reading either one of his comics from his $100,000 collection or one of his many Stephen King novels, watching TV in the dark, or going to Ray and Judy’s Book Stop. My aunt works for Hank’s wife. For reasons the mind will never fully comprehend, simply stopping at Ray and Judy’s wasn’t tradition enough. Our fathers had to take it a step further and out of their unscrupulous and conniving ways a new pastime was birthed - torturing Ray and Judy. They would repeatedly send Kyle into the shop with never enough money. Kyle would have to insist that he buy one of Hank’s books. It was always Hank. When they weren’t using Kyle as a scapegoat, they would post up at the front counter themselves and pester Ray and Judy with questions and jokes about Hank. It was always Hank. According to Bauer Family lore which has been written down in Bauer and Company’s 100 Biggest Oops (this a true, living document), “One day the owner of Ray and Judy’s told Hank about the jokes and described the people telling them. Hank responded by saying, ‘Oh, they are just two men who don’t want to grow up.’ Bauer and Company may never step back into the book stop again, but who cares, it’s just another place on Main Street that they can’t go to.” But we went back year after year. #2 Participate in the Card Contest I wrote about the Card Contest in the Chicken Soup for the Soul holiday edition book. For many, Jesus and Santa are the two main guys of Christmas. They steal the show. And although Jesus is the reason for the season in our household, there is another guy who is almost just as important to our family every holiday season. It’s the Card Guy. We have a long-standing tradition on my dad’s side of the family of having a card contest over the years. What started as a friendly game of voting on which Christmas card was the best to be sent to my uncle and his family turned into an all-out fierce competition of judging, alliances, secret voting, song and dance, tears, fights, and carefully crafting the perfect and funniest card for half a year. We’ve had family members become the Griswalds, Kardashians, Joe Biden and Obama, and Ralphie and Randy from A Christmas Story all in the name of the Card Contest. And out of that, the Card Guy came to life. The Card Guy is my uncle. On the eve of the contest, he transforms into character wearing a jean vest full of Christmas cards from days of yore. The lights dim, the music sounds, and he bursts into the room almost magically singing and dancing the opening number. Usually a spoof on a popular song. It’s oddly reminiscent of Michael Scott performing at the Dundies. Throughout his entire performance for the night, he does a spectacular job of hosting the contest. He divides the cards into categories: Nature, Religious, Plain Text, and the biggest, most coveted one of all, the Picture category. Then, he dazzles us with his jokes, wit, charisma, and charm until he ultimately crowns the winner of the night. For a while, the Card Guy was on top of the world. But over time, we became greedy and hungry for victory. We pushed the Card Guy for more. More jokes. More songs. More pizzazz. And we riddled him when the contest dragged on for too long. We belittled him when our cards didn’t win. We booed him when his jokes didn’t land. We demanded him to perform like he was some kind of show puppet and not a real person with real feelings. We couldn’t see it, but the Card Guy was cracking. The pressure was too much. Finally, he hung up his hat and announced his retirement. Some family members made feeble attempts to encourage him to perform again, but he simply wouldn’t do it. But with the birth of children, weddings, surgeries, and the like, the family wasn’t able to be together at Christmastime for the past two years. We made some tries to have the contest over Facebook, but it was missing something. It was missing the Card Guy. With the last years being so hard we all needed something to unite the world during the holiday season. Someone to bring peace and simplicity back into the homes of America again. We needed the Card Guy. But more importantly, we needed the Card Guy because he unites our family together. He makes us laugh. He makes us value family traditions. He gives us hope that despite everything that has happened in the world, we will always have each other to lean on, fight, and make up with, and ultimately create long-lasting memories with. Ones we can tell our children about. 2020 wasn’t the year for traditions to be forgotten. It was the year for them to be remade, rebirthed, and restored in any way possible. It was the year for Card Guy. We brought it back for a few years, but then my mom died, and it was too hard to do it. HOWEVER, stay tuned for next year. We will be back, and you can submit your card to the contest. #3 Play Cemetery Games  Christmas starts with a birth and, for us Bauers, ends with death. During 2nd Christmas, our fathers loaded us in the car and drove us to Restland Memorial Park, the final resting place for my granddad (my dad’s father), my great-grandfather, and my great-grandmother. Because just simply paying our respects to the deceased is too much to ask for, our dads designed elaborate, competitive games for the kids to play to earn money. You might be quick to dismiss these playground games and chalk it up to two fathers who probably only wanted a few minutes to themselves to smoke their cigars. However, I know our fathers and these contests were just as much for their entertainment as it was for ours. Much like the wise men delivering gifts to Jesus, our padres, too, made us deliver gifts to the graves of our departed loved ones. The person with the most unique gift won. In hindsight, I am abashed to admit that we aided and abetted in petty grave robbery and just enabled our fathers’ miserly misconducts. “We don’t need to buy flowers for the graves, we will just have our children steal things.” Once the gathering of the objects ended, we were free to frolic around the cemetery Other Graveyard Olympic games consisted of the following:
Then, for the Closing Ceremonies, we would skip and chant around the graves with a Hail Mary or Our Father probably thrown in there somewhere. Bizarre but then again our fathers are bizarre and had a bizarre relationship with their dad. #4 Hike Sounds normal enough. Who doesn’t love a winter’s hike in the freezing cold and snow? Well, for starters, the Gabonese people probably don't. Amy Slaton-Halterman and Tammy Slaton probably don't either. Babies by themselves probably don't. And most likely people who don’t love hiking and the cold probably don’t love a winter’s hike in the freezing cold and snow, but that is neither here nor there. A trek up a trail with the glistening snow all around sounds like a very delightful Christmas tradition. Except when nearly every hike ends in near tragedy. Again, our fathers simply could not meander up the mountain and behold the scenic overlook into New York City. They always had to add a dash of danger. A flake of fear. A morsel of menace. A pinch of peril. They always had to scare the living shit out of us children. One year my uncle wandered off the trail purposefully and made us think that we were truly alone stuck on this mountain while we feared that he was truly missing or, worse, dead. Another year, he taunted us by walking across a hazardously high log covered in snow and ice as we once again trembled that he could fall to his death. Other times, we were forced to participate in said competitive activities for money and, more importantly, pride. At least, I vaguely remember getting hot chocolate after these hikes. Looking back on these Christmas traditions, it’s hard to say whether they have scarred us with trauma that a therapist would be giddy with anticipation to unpack. Or have they left us hardened and tough and mentally strong like our fathers claim to be? “God granted me with the ability to [fill in the blank]…” Either way, God rest ye merry these two gentlemen. Let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day to save us all from Satan’s pow’r when were gone astray. Oh tidings of comfort and joy. Comfort and joy. Oh tidings of comfort and joy. CHECK OUT the NEW BOOK about Doug, KB, and Dead Mom on Amazon. Learn more here. First 3 people to tip me this month will get a signed Doug Wanoy copy of Henry's Hiccups for Deaf Awareness Month. And if you're a parent, check out my parenting guide Now What? Mindful Parenting Checklists for Life’s Hard Moments.
1 Comment
Travis harris
12/31/2024 06:58:02 am
You are a talented writer. Your parents did a great job with you and kyle. Thanks for sharing. Leave a Reply. |
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