FRED MANTEGHIAN BLOG

Christmas is a special time when madness invades the homestead and the urge to give and give and give and, well, you get the picture. But what are these gifts with which we hold these truths to be self evident? One year, a very long time ago, it was a special little baby I found in a cabbage patch. At least, that’s what is said on the label. When the blue light went on – and yes, there really was a blue light - I, along with all the other shoppers in that alphabet-mart, went careening through the aisles like so many pinballs driven in reverse until we converged at the same single spot. A towering monument of pastel packaged Cabbage Patch dolls had just been unwrapped. We, one man and host of hostile woman, were the chosen ones. We each grabbed. I got one. Studying her, my little rainbow coalition brown Jolene, asleep with her eyes open, waiting for the moment when her child would hold her and bring her to life.

And then there was Will I Love You. A big hunkin’ cheetah of a stuffed animal that, head to non-existent tail, was at least two hands grander than the boy who loved him with all his might. Each night, even if he had tried to escape the clutches of his child, he was destined to be who he was.

“What’s his name, Gregory?”

“Will I Love You”

“You love Will?”

“No, his name IS ‘Will I Love You.’”

The VW bug was invented in Germany, but perfected in Italy. Prego built an battery powered car for one 60 pound kid, or two 30 pound kids, or two 40 or 50 pound kids if you didn’t much care for rules or battery life. When the battery died, it died. The electronics seemed to be taken straight out of Fiat. But it was white, and it was a convertible, and she loved it so. It sits silent in the attic. But it’s there.

They’re just things. But they’re attached to people, little people. Or at least people who were little once upon a time.

You gots to love the little peoples.

Merry Christmas and to all, a Good Night.