The Voices In My Head: Harper Lee Weinstock

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A COLLECTION OF COLUMNS BY HARPER LEE WEINSTOCK

Another'n Bites The Dust

Billy Joe Bob "Buddy" Halsey

Well, sir, another Christmas has done come and gone at The Halsey Hacienda. Or as Bootsie put it, "Another'n Bites The Dust!"

I reckon it's time I take down them decorative buglights hanging out over the front steps. I surely am gonna miss the sound of all them bugs getting their holiday zapping.

Lemme tell you what, Christmas morning at the Halsey hacienda was more excitin' than pickin' your teeth with a cattle prod. My youngest boy Bucky (the one with the Elvis shaped mole on his neck) woke us up about six, screamin' and hollerin' from the livin' room like his head was on fire and his butt was a catchin'. Me and Bootsie jumped out of bed and run in there, expecting him to be makin' a fuss about what Santy Claus had brung him. To our surprise he was screamin' cause his sister Darlene was locked in the bathroom and he had to go. He was about to water the fake tree, but I grabbed up his little butt and took him out back of the manufactured home to do his business.

As we stood there, father and son, standin' side by side writing our names in the frosty grass, he looked up at me and smiled with them four big old front teeth of his. Right then and there I thanked the good Lord for all His blessin's. If'n we had been whizzin' next to a manger it would have been the perfect Christmas moment. I thought to myself, "Buddy, it just don't get no better than this."

Later on, after the kids opened their presents, the family went to Christmas dinner over at my mama-in-law's house out in Hazel Green. All my wife's kin was there, including her stupid brother Willis and his imaginary friend Cooter. Willis is a dranker, don't you know, claims he dranks to numb the pain of what happened to him in Vietnam, which kind of baffles me 'cause Willis wasn't born until 1978 and the closest to Vietnam he's ever come is drivin' by the Korean restaurant out on I-90. Nevertheless, every year Willis somehow manages to ruin Christmas dinner for everybody. Every year he wants to carve the turkey and he's always so drunk he usually loses part of a finger in the process. I don't mind a little undercooked turkey, but raw finger? Yuck! Thank God this year Willis passed out before the bird came out of the oven. A fine time was had by all, especially my boy Bucky, who kept runnin' up behind Willis and yellin', "Incoming, uncle Willis, incoming!"

That Bucky, what a little card.

Now, lemme tell you about New Year's Eve...

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