| THOMAS J. PRESTOPNIK |
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| Read Chapter Nine from A CHRISTMAS CASTLE |
| CHAPTER NINE |
“Now as common a task as it is, raising children has to be one of the toughest
jobs in the world,” Gloria said. “Well, who am I kidding? The toughest job in the
world.”
“And let’s not forget exhausting and frustrating,” Jack added facetiously. “But
still enjoyable. Kind of like raising a crop that takes eighteen years to mature
before you can harvest it, and even then…”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
Gloria nodded, glancing at Jack as she added to her popcorn garland. As they
sat side by side in the cushioned chairs amongst the potted plants, Gloria
remembered a time when she and her husband fell into the enjoyable habit of
doing crossword puzzles together in their den. Shortly after Jay and Maggie
had moved out of the house, she and Ned would find themselves working on
separate puzzles from a newspaper or magazine, enjoying a cup of coffee
while consulting one another for answers when they got stuck on a clue. In
between, they’d chat about favorite memories of their son and daughter to fill
up the hollow spaces left plentiful throughout the house. It had been a pleasant
way to deal with the new void in their lives, to slowly get used to it. Now Gloria
was doing it all over again, happy to have found Jack to help her.
“Anyhow,” Gloria said, quickly glancing at her watch, “I think Ned and I did an
okay job with our kids. They still talk to me, and any old quarrels from the past
have been forgotten. So all in all, I’ve had a pretty good run. Can’t complain too
much.”
“Me either,” Jack said. “Not that it’d do much good now!”
“Will all of your children be around for Christmas?”
“Oh, they never miss a year. My daughter Elaine has a get-together at her
house about fifteen minutes from here,” Jack said. “My sons, Will and Scott,
show up with their families, and if I feel up to it, one of them will drive me over
for a couple of hours. A small meal, a cup of coffee, and I’m happy. Afterward I
open a present or two, and by then I’m usually Christmased out and come back
here for a nap.”
Gloria understood. “It catches up with us sooner each year. But it’s still nice to
get together. I look forward to it.”
“So do I,” Jack said, recalling moments from Christmases past as if pulling old
photographs out of a shoebox one by one to examine them.
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
“And which of your children does what again?” Gloria asked. “You mentioned
once, but I’ve forgotten who’s who.”
“Sometimes I do,” Jack replied, tapping a finger on the side of his head. “Scott
and his wife own that Italian restaurant near Syracuse, Will is the accountant
and Elaine retired a few years ago from teaching. She was an art instructor
and now has more time to paint on her own. She’s sold several watercolors
recently.”
“They seem quite accomplished. You must be proud of them, Jack.”
“I am,” he said, gazing at a potted palm tree in the corner. “And since they’ve
done a fine job raising the grandkids, I guess it means that I must have done a
good job somewhere along the line.”
Gloria smiled. “You’re allowed to take credit.”
“Delighted to do so,” Jack said, snitching another piece of popcorn. “And as
successful as my children have been, I hope my grandkids do even better. I’m
sure they’ll go farther in life than I did.”
“Well if they do, you can take a little credit for that, too.” Gloria lightly patted his
arm. “You played a part in all their lives, Jack, whether you realize the
ramifications or not. Any values, advice or other intangibles you’ve instilled in
your children will be passed along in part to your grandkids. You might not ever
see the results, but I suspect that your influence is good for a generation or
two.”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
“Well that’s certainly nice to know,” Jack said, “whether I entirely believe it or
not.”
“Oh, believe it,” Gloria said with a swish of her hand through the air. “It’s sort of
like being a teacher. You impart all this knowledge to your students, test them
and so forth, and then they move on to the next grade or graduate. You,
meanwhile, are always wondering if what you taught them ever really stuck.
Did you expand their minds? Did you provide them insight? Did you get
through to them in any way whatsoever? And in most cases you’ll probably
never really know.” Gloria sighed as she examined the white intertwined
handfuls of the popcorn garland in her lap. “But you always hang on to the
possibility that one day a spark will be generated in the mind of at least one of
your students by something you had said. And then, well–illumination!”
“Illumination?”
“Or something like that,” Gloria replied. “We teachers nurse the hope that
maybe somewhere out in the world there’ll be a newfound medical cure, an
award winning painting or a timesaving invention that perhaps, in some small
way, we helped to inspire. Even the creation of a stunning piece of
architecture!” Gloria looked askance at Jack. “Am I being too egotistical
wishing that?”
“Nothing wrong in taking pride in the accomplishments of others you’ve helped
along the way. That’s being human,” Jack said. “Besides, how many of our
own dreams ever materialize? It’s only natural that you hope your children–or
students–get their shot.”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
“I think so, too.”
“And you’re right. You’ll never know the consequences of most things you did
or said,” Jack admitted. “That’s for later generations to figure out. But I
suppose even the most insignificant trifle could one day lead to amazing
results.”
Gloria slowly turned her head, staring fixedly at her popcorn-stringing
companion. “Exactly, Jack! That’s precisely the point I was making earlier.”
“It was? When?”
“When you regaled me with the story about how you saw that shooting star on
Christmas night when you were eight years old.”
Jack shook his head and sighed. “And you’re convinced because of that
insignificant moment you now exist?”
Gloria nodded sharply. “A hundred percent!”
“Well, my friend, explain your theory to me. My popcorn and I eagerly await the
tale.”
“Now don’t make fun of me, Jack. I’m being serious.” Gloria turned in her chair
to get more comfortable, glancing out the window. Splashes of moonlight
flowed along the sill. “But first I want to know a little more about your oldest
sister Loretta.”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
Jack shrugged. “Why?”
“Because my mother Jenny Campbell–that was her maiden name–knew a girl
named Loretta Mason in high school,” Gloria said. “They were very close
friends.”
“Why would you even remember that fact?”
“Only because of a special story my mother told me many times while growing
up. Your sister’s name was a part of it.”
“Loretta?”
“Yes,” Gloria said. “In fact, she was the key to the story.”
“Hmmm, that’s odd,” Jack said. “What was your mother’s story about?”
Gloria smiled, recalling conversations with her mother years ago while baking
raisin bread or drinking iced tea under the shade tree in the backyard. They
told stories and shared many laughs, but one particular piece of family history
always held a dear and fascinating place in Gloria’s heart.
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
“It was a very touching story, Jack, between a mother and daughter.”
“What about?”
“About how my mother Jenny and my father Robert first met, of course. And
though I don’t like to toss out clichés, Jack,” she said with a slight grin, “I
suppose one could say it was another match made in paradise. Sort of a
tropical paradise to be exact.”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
Read Chapter 10
jobs in the world,” Gloria said. “Well, who am I kidding? The toughest job in the
world.”
“And let’s not forget exhausting and frustrating,” Jack added facetiously. “But
still enjoyable. Kind of like raising a crop that takes eighteen years to mature
before you can harvest it, and even then…”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
Gloria nodded, glancing at Jack as she added to her popcorn garland. As they
sat side by side in the cushioned chairs amongst the potted plants, Gloria
remembered a time when she and her husband fell into the enjoyable habit of
doing crossword puzzles together in their den. Shortly after Jay and Maggie
had moved out of the house, she and Ned would find themselves working on
separate puzzles from a newspaper or magazine, enjoying a cup of coffee
while consulting one another for answers when they got stuck on a clue. In
between, they’d chat about favorite memories of their son and daughter to fill
up the hollow spaces left plentiful throughout the house. It had been a pleasant
way to deal with the new void in their lives, to slowly get used to it. Now Gloria
was doing it all over again, happy to have found Jack to help her.
“Anyhow,” Gloria said, quickly glancing at her watch, “I think Ned and I did an
okay job with our kids. They still talk to me, and any old quarrels from the past
have been forgotten. So all in all, I’ve had a pretty good run. Can’t complain too
much.”
“Me either,” Jack said. “Not that it’d do much good now!”
“Will all of your children be around for Christmas?”
“Oh, they never miss a year. My daughter Elaine has a get-together at her
house about fifteen minutes from here,” Jack said. “My sons, Will and Scott,
show up with their families, and if I feel up to it, one of them will drive me over
for a couple of hours. A small meal, a cup of coffee, and I’m happy. Afterward I
open a present or two, and by then I’m usually Christmased out and come back
here for a nap.”
Gloria understood. “It catches up with us sooner each year. But it’s still nice to
get together. I look forward to it.”
“So do I,” Jack said, recalling moments from Christmases past as if pulling old
photographs out of a shoebox one by one to examine them.
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
“And which of your children does what again?” Gloria asked. “You mentioned
once, but I’ve forgotten who’s who.”
“Sometimes I do,” Jack replied, tapping a finger on the side of his head. “Scott
and his wife own that Italian restaurant near Syracuse, Will is the accountant
and Elaine retired a few years ago from teaching. She was an art instructor
and now has more time to paint on her own. She’s sold several watercolors
recently.”
“They seem quite accomplished. You must be proud of them, Jack.”
“I am,” he said, gazing at a potted palm tree in the corner. “And since they’ve
done a fine job raising the grandkids, I guess it means that I must have done a
good job somewhere along the line.”
Gloria smiled. “You’re allowed to take credit.”
“Delighted to do so,” Jack said, snitching another piece of popcorn. “And as
successful as my children have been, I hope my grandkids do even better. I’m
sure they’ll go farther in life than I did.”
“Well if they do, you can take a little credit for that, too.” Gloria lightly patted his
arm. “You played a part in all their lives, Jack, whether you realize the
ramifications or not. Any values, advice or other intangibles you’ve instilled in
your children will be passed along in part to your grandkids. You might not ever
see the results, but I suspect that your influence is good for a generation or
two.”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
“Well that’s certainly nice to know,” Jack said, “whether I entirely believe it or
not.”
“Oh, believe it,” Gloria said with a swish of her hand through the air. “It’s sort of
like being a teacher. You impart all this knowledge to your students, test them
and so forth, and then they move on to the next grade or graduate. You,
meanwhile, are always wondering if what you taught them ever really stuck.
Did you expand their minds? Did you provide them insight? Did you get
through to them in any way whatsoever? And in most cases you’ll probably
never really know.” Gloria sighed as she examined the white intertwined
handfuls of the popcorn garland in her lap. “But you always hang on to the
possibility that one day a spark will be generated in the mind of at least one of
your students by something you had said. And then, well–illumination!”
“Illumination?”
“Or something like that,” Gloria replied. “We teachers nurse the hope that
maybe somewhere out in the world there’ll be a newfound medical cure, an
award winning painting or a timesaving invention that perhaps, in some small
way, we helped to inspire. Even the creation of a stunning piece of
architecture!” Gloria looked askance at Jack. “Am I being too egotistical
wishing that?”
“Nothing wrong in taking pride in the accomplishments of others you’ve helped
along the way. That’s being human,” Jack said. “Besides, how many of our
own dreams ever materialize? It’s only natural that you hope your children–or
students–get their shot.”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
“I think so, too.”
“And you’re right. You’ll never know the consequences of most things you did
or said,” Jack admitted. “That’s for later generations to figure out. But I
suppose even the most insignificant trifle could one day lead to amazing
results.”
Gloria slowly turned her head, staring fixedly at her popcorn-stringing
companion. “Exactly, Jack! That’s precisely the point I was making earlier.”
“It was? When?”
“When you regaled me with the story about how you saw that shooting star on
Christmas night when you were eight years old.”
Jack shook his head and sighed. “And you’re convinced because of that
insignificant moment you now exist?”
Gloria nodded sharply. “A hundred percent!”
“Well, my friend, explain your theory to me. My popcorn and I eagerly await the
tale.”
“Now don’t make fun of me, Jack. I’m being serious.” Gloria turned in her chair
to get more comfortable, glancing out the window. Splashes of moonlight
flowed along the sill. “But first I want to know a little more about your oldest
sister Loretta.”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
Jack shrugged. “Why?”
“Because my mother Jenny Campbell–that was her maiden name–knew a girl
named Loretta Mason in high school,” Gloria said. “They were very close
friends.”
“Why would you even remember that fact?”
“Only because of a special story my mother told me many times while growing
up. Your sister’s name was a part of it.”
“Loretta?”
“Yes,” Gloria said. “In fact, she was the key to the story.”
“Hmmm, that’s odd,” Jack said. “What was your mother’s story about?”
Gloria smiled, recalling conversations with her mother years ago while baking
raisin bread or drinking iced tea under the shade tree in the backyard. They
told stories and shared many laughs, but one particular piece of family history
always held a dear and fascinating place in Gloria’s heart.
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
“It was a very touching story, Jack, between a mother and daughter.”
“What about?”
“About how my mother Jenny and my father Robert first met, of course. And
though I don’t like to toss out clichés, Jack,” she said with a slight grin, “I
suppose one could say it was another match made in paradise. Sort of a
tropical paradise to be exact.”
© Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik
Read Chapter 10