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SALT LAKE CITY -- Hey, here’s a tradition – going back home from grandma’s house to get stuff that was left behind because someone forgot to bring something, and it was really important, so please, please Daddy will you go all the way back home and get it and…because I really need it and I love you so much, Daddy please…
I like this tradition. It’s up there with “don’t eat so much candy before breakfast on Christmas morning, but the candy is eaten anyway” tradition.
Before we leave for Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve, my wife usually says to the girls, “did you forget anything?” as if they will remember the forgotten item.
Before we leave for Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve, my wife usually says to the girls, "did you forget anything" as if they will remember the forgotten item. Answer: "No, mom, let's go."
Answer: “No, c’mom, let’s go.”
Which prompts me to say, “Now, I want everyone to think about it. Did you forget anything?”
Another: “No, c’mon. Let’s hurry.”
The follow-up statement has to be said, but largely ignored. “Slow down. I’m guessing someone here forgot something. Take a minute. Remember last year…”
Then picture three sets of eye rolling in synchronistic roundness to each other (rolling like in rolling thunder, logs, pins, and rocks, with a Salted Nut Roll tossed in), as if this is a brand-new year, nothing like last year, any normal Dad would know that. We learned our lesson from last year, Dad, get the lead out and c’mon let’s go already.
Then I say, with great finality, and with absolutely no way to enforce, nor any thread of compliance to a resolution of the statement. “Well, I’m certainly not coming back if you guys missed anything.”
Then my wife rolls her eyes.
“I mean it. Not going back…”
As soon as we get to my mother’s, I mean the moment we walk in through the door: “Dad, I forgot my contact case”, “Dad, I forgot to feed the goldfish”, and the ever favorite “Dad, did you see my present for Aunt Kirsten?”
Back home I go.
One year, a child was sick, so I went back for some medicine. That was all right. Who wants to be sick on Christmas? The poor kid. I went back…gladly.
As soon as we get to my mother’s, I mean the moment we walk in through the door: "Dad, I forgot my contact case", "Dad, I forgot to feed the goldfish", and the ever favorite "Dad, did you see my present for Aunt Kirsten?"
Oh, and one year, the diapers were forgotten, and I went back. That’s just common sense because, you know, that’s a disaster waiting to happen in the tenth degree on the Richter scale…oh boy.
But to forget a contact case? Contact case = no brainer to remember. Right?
The children just seem to forget, I know. They're on vacation from school; they’re excited about presents, they’re eager to be with Grandma…it’s just natural to forget. Forget something? Let Dad go back, he loves us, don’t worry about it. Forget, forget, and forget. The “forget” tradition every year. Johnny Mathis needed to sing “It’s the most forgetful time of the year…”
Another year, I was getting things set up and pulled a bunch of loose parts out of a box to put together (you know what I mean) and started to place all the parts in sections, getting real organized, in the order that they needed to go. All the screws together in a pile, all the nuts and washers in another pile – laying out the different sizes, accompanying nuts, washers, and C-clamps all set and ready to go. My wife was even amazed that I, number 1, got it all organized and, number 2, that I was following directions. I took a deep breath, all set to go, and…
…Realized that I forgot to bring the tools.
Back home I went.
Bill Hill lives in Idaho Falls, Idaho with his wife and three daughters. He provides psycho-social rehabilitation to children
