Terry Mosher
This the eve of giving, and I have nothing against it, but for once I would like to receive in a big way this Christmas. And what got me started on this is listening to the great singer Darlene Love sing Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) on David Letterman.
The song starts out:
“The snow’s coming down
I’m watching it fall
Watching the people around
Baby please come home.”
Those words are meaningful to me because for the first 14 years of my life in New YorkState winters were, well, winters. I remember weeks of sub zero temperatures, snow that never went away (it crusted over so you could walk on it), and snowfall drifting down quietly in freezing weather without a hint of a breeze and so much calm it created the perfect wonderland.
But the words as sung by Love also creates wistfulness in me that yearns for those who I have lost. If I could have just one day – Christmas – when all the loves ones I have watch depart could all come back – “Baby please come home” – that would be one heck of a present.
So mama, please come home. You have been gone for 60 years and now it’s time to come back home to not only tell me what you told me the last minutes we shared together, but so I could hug you and tell you that I love you so, and have missed you ever second of all those long days and years.
“The church bells in town
They’re ringing a song
What a happy sound
Baby please come home.”
Peanuts, you come home, too. Peanuts was the dog – the mutt – that I grew up with. Whatever I did, she did. Wherever I went, she went. We waded the Allegheny River, walked the foothills of the Alleghenies, played catch with a baseball, she found lost baseballs for me and our neighborhood gang, she went with me to the movies, she went everywhere.
And now, Peanuts, it’s time to come home.
To Dick, who enjoyed every second of his short 23-year-life, c’mon over here and give me a hug. We had fun, Dick, living in Hermosa Beach, two beach bums from the sticks of New YorkState enjoying the southern California sun, the surf and sand and all the girls in those bikinis.
Dick we could go to the Vogue in Hermosa and listen to the jazz trio that mesmerized us night after night. The Vogue is no longer there, but for just this one day it is there, and so are we.
Even through I don’t drink, Dick, just for you, you can mix some alcohol and juice in our old plastic container and I’ll match you drink for drink until the stars disappear and the warm sun once again warms the beach sand.
And I’ll even ride with you in the hot mercurymobile up the Harbor Freeway to LA so we can toast Amos and Dave as they party way into the night.
“They’re singing deck the halls
But it’s not like Christmas at all
I remember when you were here
All the fun we had last year.”
You and me, Pete, will go out in the freezing rain and throw that old cowhide around one more time. You with that sinker, trying to hit my knees, me with a Bob Feller fastball that rattled all the bones in your gloved hand, just the two of us throwing caution to the cold, cold winter, trying to outdo one another.
This time, Pete, you won’t need arm surgery to fix the elbow you blew out in that freezing rain, and I will still be able to throw a football nearly the length of the football field as usual instead of a dreary 45 yards on a good day once my arm healed.
We’ll go back into the gym, Pete, and throw up those running Bobby Sassone hook shots off the glass, and maybe we’ll even find a DeSota to take one last ride with that bonfire you built on the floorboard on the passenger side shielding you from the harsh Northeaster blowing in from the window that would not close.
All the good times will roll back on us.
“Pretty lights on the tree
I’m watching them shine
You should be here with me
Baby please come home
Baby please come home.”
One last time, Putt, we will sack up the potatoes harvested on this day from the vast fields we will have worked once again, you with that ever-present cigarette dangling from your lip just like Humphrey Bogart.
Then, as always, we will head to Pike’s and drain a beer (or two or three) and tell stories that make us laugh until all the laugher is used up. We’ll make it a Saturday night, Putt, so we can go to the all-night bottle club up near Sumas.
Then you can show me how well you can dance with a six-beer head start on everybody else. I might even try it, just this once.
And dad, you got to come back to show me how to use the tools in your tool box you gifted to me when you realized you now longer could do the things you used to do. It was a great gift, dad, and I still have it nearly 45 years later. The tools are in great shape, because I never have discovered how to use them.
But you can show me, dad, as we stand side-by-side at your old tool bench, fiddling with this and that just to fiddle with this and that. And I’ll make sure I tell you dad that I love you. I didn’t do that the first time around.
“They’re singing deck the halls
But it’s not like Christmas at all
I remember when you were here
All the fun we had last year.
If there was a way
I’d hold back these tears
But it’s Christmas day
Baby please come home
Baby please come home
Baby please come home”
Be well pal
Be careful out there
Have a great Christmas
You are loved