Chapter 57

Christmas Eve day was pretty quiet, and since Christmas fell on a Sunday, the NFL had moved their games to Saturday. Mom and Grandmother were getting dinner ready for both days. Grandfather and I were watching football while Randy was stuck in his dungeon wrapping Christmas presents.

We were forced to watch the Atlanta Falcons playing due to TV blackout; they were the local team and played the same time as the Bears. I went upstairs at the end of the 1st quarter to grab my wallet. Sitting back down on the couch, I looked at Grandfather.

“Want to place a wager?”

“So, what are you proposing?”

“I’ve $50 says that the Bears lose and the Falcons win.”

I didn’t know the exact scores, but I did remember that the Bears weren’t really any good and I didn’t think the Falcons were either, so I’d take a chance.

I put a $50 bill down on the coffee table and then two twenties and a ten were laid down on top of it. During halftime we were used as rented mules to put covered dishes in the fridge that was in the garage. The games were both low scoring affairs ending up in my favor. The Falcons won 10-6 over Arizona, and the Bears lost 10-3 against New England.

“Well, the money is yours.””

“I’d like to thank you for donating to my good time party fund. “

“Very funny, but I highly doubt that. “

We kind of paid attention to the LA Rams (who would leave for St. Louis the next year) play the Redskins.

Dinner was called and we had bowls of bigosz*. Randy came and got a bowl then went back into his dungeon. There was the normal banter at the table, and as everyone was finishing, Erin brought up an important topic of discussion to all kids in our family at Christmas; the fact that we got to open one present before heading off to Midnight mass.

Mom shot her down for the moment. “It’s not time. I’ll let you know when it is as there are a couple more hours before we have to get ready.”

About an hour before we had to leave, I got ready and went downstairs. I could hear Erin asking her again about opening a present. Mom was threatening to skip that tradition for this year if she didn’t quit asking. Mom told her to get ready for Mass before it would happen; Erin was able to calm down a bit.

Ten minutes later everyone was gathered in the front room and handed a present. Erin was able to finally calm down. I opened mine and it was a new pack of socks. Hopefully I got something a bit better tomorrow. I rode with the grandparents to Mass.

Waking up on Christmas morning, there was no one running into my room to wake me up. I stayed in bed until I heard the door from the stairs open up.

I got cleaned up and headed down to the kitchen. It was time for the annual Christmas Day breakfast; a tradition that had been going on for about 12 years or so. We had homemade waffles that were filled with pieces of bacon placed on the waffle iron. Those waffles were awesome, with tons of butter and syrup. We all ate till we were fat and happy, then adjourned to the living room to open presents.

Erin opened mine first, it was another book, though I had to order it from the book store. It was a book on reading and writing Polish. I bought two, the second one was for me. I could speak Polish just fine, reading and writing were another story. She ran over and gave me a hug, thanking me. Randy saw what it was and then there was a scowl on his face, my job was done perfectly.

I got a present from my grandparents. It surprised me that it was a pack of white undershirts. Putting on a smile, I thanked them both. A grandfather who was sitting next to me leaned over and whispered.

“You’ll get your real present a little later.”

“OK.”

Mom opened her present from me. I knew years later she would be enthralled with Polish pottery, buying a complete set piece by piece. I could vaguely remember what the stuff she had looked like but knew it was the same when I saw it. It was called the Peacock pattern.

I had Grandfather buy it from a store in the Polish town section of Chicago and he sent it a couple weeks ago. There was a huge smile on her face when she pulled out the platter. There was a pattern list included in case for some reason she decided on another pattern.

“Where did you get this from?”

“I believe there’s a brochure in the box.” She was lost in that brochure for a while.

Grandmother opened my present for her. I had absolutely no idea what to get her, so I finally decided on just going with her favorite perfume. She liked it. I had gotten Randall a selection of comic books, nothing special.

A bunch of presents were handed out before Grandfather got the box with my present to him. He was eyeing me as he opened it. I saw the look of shock on his face as he saw what was inside. Pulling it out, it was about a 2ft by 1ft hand-carved, and hand-painted, Naval Surface Warfare Officer’s badge. I could tell he was floored by the gift.

The presents kept getting handed out. Mom gave me a card with my name on it. I opened it up and it was the usual religious Christmas card. There was a gift certificate for Buck’s Deadeye Archery inside. It was for $300 which was a lot in our family for a Christmas present. I didn’t know if it was going to be enough, but it would have to do. I needed to call and find out when they were open. I thanked her profusely for the gift.

There weren’t many presents left. As the wrapping paper was rounded up to go in the trash, cups of hot chocolate were handed out, another Christmas tradition. Grandmother and Mom cleaned up from breakfast and started situating things for dinner.

Grandfather and I were again turned into pack mules. When we were done, Grandfather decided it was time for a cigar. I sat down in a chair while he went to their rental car. He came back over with the cigars and a manila envelope. Sitting down I was handed a cigar and we both lit up. After a minute he handed me the manila envelope.

“Merry Christmas, here’s your real present.”

I opened the envelope and pulled out some papers. The most interesting were three papers that said they were stocking certificates. They were done in the style of stock certificates of the mid 1800’s. They had the border like US paper money with artwork of people working with what looked like lab equipment. I read the certificate, it stated that it was worth 50 shares in a company called Amgen. The other two were exactly the same; I was now the proud owner of 150 shares in the company.

“Not that I’m not appreciative of this gift. But why give this to me?”

“Well, your grandmother and I think it’s responsible and adult of you to plan for your financial future. We decided to help jump start that process.”

“Well, thank you for that.”

We chatted about my visit with Miriam and what I was expecting out of my meeting with Nikolas on Tuesday. It was a couple of hours later when Mom came outside.

“Both of you need to come inside and help. Dad, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop giving Barnim cigars.”

“I can do that Lilka.”

He gave me a wink on the sly. Mom had smoked up until a couple of years ago. Randy, Stosh and JJ all smoked. On the first go around I’d smoked for over 20 years. That was something I was going to change for the better. Though the occasional cigar didn’t seem like it should be an issue.

We went inside and helped with getting dinner ready. Everyone sat down and we ate. Randy came up from his dungeon to have dinner. Things were surprisingly peaceful during the whole meal. I figured that Randy was laying low seeing as Mom had caught him out before. I’d need to keep an eye on him in case he was waiting for things to die down before doing something.

Grandmother brought out something that I hadn’t had or seen in a long time. It caused Erin to squeal as it scared her. It was a traditional Portuguese Christmas dessert, Lamperia de Ovos. While kind of looking like a creepy yellow lamprey, it was rather tasty. It was basically egg yolks (a whole lot of them) sugar and almonds. It was made into a lamprey looking thing with cherries for eyes and sliced almonds for teeth. Erin was leery of it, though still ate it.

There was coffee or milk with dessert and some small chit chat. I ended up going to bed while Mom and the grandparents were still talking.

I went for my morning run and just after I made the turn to head back to the house, some idiot kept honking. I kept waving them to pass, but they kept honking. I stopped and turned around. I couldn’t believe that it was Grandfather staring back at me. He pulled up next to me and rolled the window down.

“You need to hurry your ass up and get home. Your grandmother is making breakfast and then you and I have something to do.”

“OK.”

He took off and I started my way back to the house. Grandfather was waiting for me when I came back up the driveway.

“It’s about time you got back.”

I walked right past him and went to get cleaned up. When I made it down to the kitchen, Grandmother had breakfast ready. Even though I didn’t drink coffee, every time Grandmother made breakfast, she had this Portuguese coffee drink waiting for you. She had told us the name before, but I couldn’t remember it. It was strange in that it was about 75% milk and 25% coffee. We always drank it; she would be offended and complain if you didn’t drink it.

After eating, I headed up to get changed for whatever stuff Grandfather had planned. I heard him as I hit the top of the stairs.

I figured we’d be outside, so I went with jeans and a long sleeve shirt. No sooner did I make it to the kitchen when I was directed outside. We’d left and drove for a couple of minutes before I realized where we were going.

It was slightly tense until we got to the Feed & Seed. When we pulled in, I could only drop my head. Mr. Pope and 1st Sgt Gibbs were waiting for us. This was probably not going to be a good day. I was thinking that I should have driven my truck seeing as all my stuff was in the back because I had a feeling this was going to get physically challenging. We got out and pleasantries were exchanged.

“So, what are you three tormentors planning to do to me this afternoon?”

They all three looked at me, then looked at each other and started laughing. This whole afternoon was going to be horrible. 1st Sgt Gibbs turned to me.

“Get in the car, it’s time to go.”

We all got in the vehicles and headed out. Like before, I realized a couple of minutes into the drive where we were going. We stopped at the gate that led to the gun range. While we were waiting for Mr. Pope to open the gate, Grandfather broached what this whole afternoon was about.

We made it down to the range. No one was there and I preferred it that way, it was easier to do what you wanted and didn’t feel rushed. We were about halfway done setting up when Grandfather headed to the porta john that was there. I turned to 1 st Sgt Gibbs and Mr. Pope.

“So, which one of you got this ball rolling?”

“Well, let’s see. You got out of the house and are out here about to shoot guns. Shut your pie hole and finish stapling the targets up.”

“Yes 1st Sgt.”

I finished with the targets and went back to the shooting stations. We finished loading magazines just before Grandfather come back from the porta john.

“Nice to see you show up after everything has been set up.”

“Benefit of age. Let’s get this started. Show me what you got.”

Everybody got their eyes and ears on. I was waiting when they told me to get going. Stepping into the first shooting station, I picked up the Beretta 92FS. Gripping it in my left hand, I made sure that my right wrapped around, and the knuckles were matched up with each other. As my thumbs settled on the right side of the slide, I saw Grandfather step next to me in my peripheral vision.

“Stop, don’t move.”

He then proceeded to look how my hands were positioned and walking behind me, took a look at the left side just as intently. As he stepped behind me, I could feel my arms starting to tire a bit from being held out what seemed like forever. I finally got the command to fire and moved the gun up to my head rather than my head down. The 15 rounds went down range in a slow and steady pace. Putting the pistol down, I turned around.

“See what you wanted?”

“Not completely. Let’s go check the target.”

We all walked the 10 yards down to the target. It was what was referred to as a B-27 target. In the couple of times that I took shooting classes in the first go around, they were deemed horrible targets by the teachers. I had made a correction in my shooting; this was what started the somewhat heated discussion that then took place. Mr. Pope was the first one to comment on it.

“So Barnim, looks like you’re shooting pretty high.”

“No, I’m shooting exactly where I was aiming. There’s a little drift in all directions, but not a whole lot. It’s well within the margin of error in my mind.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

1st Sgt Gibbs and Grandfather chimed in with similar trains of thought. I cut them short before they could launch into lengthy diatribes.

“Look here, this target is garbage. It’s way too big and the 10 ring is way too low. I aimed between the 8 and 9 rings on purpose. Where I was aiming is where the vitals would be on a person.”

They were quiet for a long time, then it was 1st Sgt Gibbs who replaced the target with a new one. I was wondering what was next, so I asked.

“So, what’s next on the agenda?”

“I want to see you shoot something with more punch to it.”

“Not a problem Grandfather.”

We went back to the shooting station and Grandfather pulled out a pistol case. As soon as he opened it up, it brought back a lot of memories. The last time I’d seen the pistol had been almost 30 years, considering both time frames. It was a Colt Gold Cup National Match 1911. He bought the pistol in 1962, though it was taken care of and looked almost brand new. We were a strange family in the largely antigun suburbs of Chicago. Grandfather, like I, enjoyed shooting, though Grandmother was pretty much indifferent.

“Been a few years since I’ve seen this pistol.”

“It has, so stop jawing and start shooting. Load two mags, fire the first then reload and fire the second.”

“OK.”

It took a minute to load 2 magazines of .45 ACP ammo. Putting the first magazine in the Colt, I set the second on the station for easier reloading. I fired the first 7 rounds, dropped the magazine, reloaded and fired again. It wasn’t a fast mag change, but it got the job done. I knew that it was a good group. My eyes being fixed by the Agen made shooting so much easier. I figured rifle qualification at boot camp would be a piece of cake. Putting the Colt down, I wanted to see just how good of a job it was.

“Let’s go take a look.”

I didn’t wait for them and went down to see. It was better than I thought, all 14 rounds in a group slightly larger than my fist. The gun did a lot of the work, a National Match barrel lends itself to tight groups. I heard a loud whistle from behind me.

“Well, I be damned, that was some pretty good shooting.”

“Well 1st Sgt, the gun had a lot to do with it. That thing is a tack driver.”

“I think you’re being a tad bit modest. Let’s see you do it again this time with the Beretta. We’ll see just how much it’s shooter or gun.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

That seemed to be the consensus. This time I just swapped the target stand out with a new one. Being the focus of a dog and pony show took all the fun out of shooting. Getting back to the shooting station, I decided to get this out of the way. As soon as they were clear of the firing line, I loaded the pistol and began firing. It was over quick, following the mantra “slow is smooth, smooth is fast”.

“WHAT THE FUCK BARNIM! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!”