Presidential Shadows

by Michael Cantwell

Kids on Christmas morning are ticking time bombs. The moment they can rush the tree and the wrapping paper starts flying everywhere; you know the bomb has exploded. I was no different.

  When I was younger, Grandma and Grandpa came over to our house before dawn on Christmas mornings. However, this year, they informed us while decorating the tree, they would come over after Grandpa’s “cranky back stopped being cranky” and Grandma could “get her knees working.”

  Christmas morning, Steve was snoring so loud I thought he might wake the presidents. I crept downstairs past the tree littered with gifts covered with red and green wrapping paper. I cautiously slid past Star, who was sleeping on the sofa bed. I arrived in the kitchen without disturbing a soul. So I thought.

  I begged the Rice Krispies to tone it down after pouring on the milk. I gobbled them up so not to wake the house. I heard Star talking in her sleep in the other room. I tried to figure out what she was saying but it was mostly garbled words. The sun still tucked away from the previous night was beginning to rise. In peeking out the kitchen window, I noticed the squirrel that lived in the oak tree in our back yard bouncing on top of the snow-covered ground.

  I knew Mom in particular would be upset if I went downstairs before she could snap photos of my fake smile the first time I viewed the tree. I was now thirteen years old. I was a freshly minted teenager, which is practically an adult. Sorta. No one could have been expected me to sleep in a room that was louder than a Giants versus Cowboys football game with all the snoring.

  After sticking the empty cereal bowl in the dishwasher, I made a slice of toast. As I was putting some butter on it, I heard a voice from behind.

  “A man cannot live by bread alone; he must have peanut butter.”

  I chuckled but didn’t want others to hear. “Ssssshhhh,” I said. “Don’t wake up Star and the people upstairs.” The man with a large forehead and beard walked to the opening between the kitchen and living room. He looked at Star before sitting at the breakfast table next to me. He smiled.

  “I don’t know why, but I have a feeling I know that young lady,” the man said.

  “Now I get it. You’re James Garfield. It gets complicated when you guys come to visit. I’ve now figured out that you only know what you knew when you were president. That’s Stargazer. When she was born, her name was Ginger Garfield. Star’s dad told her you two are related.”

  James turned and looked into the other room. “I’ve never seen her before, but she does share some features with my eldest son Harry Augustus. However, that is not the reason for my visit on this blessed day. Mr. Sam Wilson claims I was the proper choice for today’s visit.”

  “Why is that, Mr. Garfield?”

  “Why today is the birth of my savior, Jesus Christ. I am the only president who was a clergyman having served as a Minister for the Disciples of Christ. I resigned the highest office of the land to become the President of the United States.”

  “Don’t try to talk Mom into taking me to church again today. We went last night.”

  “No, I don’t force my religious beliefs on anyone, Alex. However, I am willing to share in the word of our Lord whenever anyone would care to listen. In that regard, let me share a few words. A brave man is a man who dares to look the Devil in the face and tell him he is the Devil.”

  “I know some kids at school who Mom says ‘they have the devil in them’, but not sure that is what you mean.”

  James looked in the other room again. “Not exactly, Alex.”

  The morning rays of the sun were beginning to lighten Mom’s white lace curtains over the sink. I got up from up the table. I tossed the crumbs from my toast and put the small dish in the dishwasher. I offered James a drink. He declined. I filled my glass with more apple juice and sat back down next to Mr. Garfield.

  “What is your least favorite part about being president?”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his face a few times. “The president is the last person in the world to know what the people really want and think. When I served nine terms in the House of Representatives, I went home on breaks. I spoke with the people. As President, men surround me and only tell me what they think I want to hear. That is the worst part for me.”

  “What was your favorite?”

  “I don’t know if I have a favorite, however, there are a few items on my agenda that I would like to complete. One is, now that the Civil War has concluded, and the slaves are freedmen and citizens, I would like to make education a universal right funded by the Federal Government.”

  “Why? My mom’s a teacher and she says all the time that schooling is better when the local people do it.”

  “I would tend to agree except for one reason. The former slaves are not getting the education they need to compete in society as freedmen. If we control education at a federal level, I believe it will aid the former slaves.”

  I heard people moving around upstairs. I was surprised no one had come downstairs yet. “Mom’s going to be down here soon. She gets upset if she thinks I’m talking with men from the past. She should be happy I have cool friends who led our country but she’s not. Maybe you should go. I don’t want her mad at me before I get to open my presents.”

  “That’s fine, Alex. But please remember the true meaning of Christmas.”

  “Oh, I do. I watch the Charlie Brown special every year. Linus reminds me. Do you have any other advice before you leave, Mr. Garfield?”

  James stood up. “I must search out this Minister Linus. I will leave you with one thought. Ideas control the world. Merry Christmas, Alex.”

  I chuckled to myself thinking about Linus as the preacher in our church. “Merry Christmas to you as well, Mr. President.”

  Rubbing her eyes, Star stumbled into the kitchen wearing red and green-checkered pajama bottoms and a ‘chicks rule’ white top. Her puffy brown hair needed a brush. She plopped into the same chair her great great grandfather was sitting in seconds earlier. She yawned.

  “Merry Christmas, little dude,” Star mumbled.

  I let her calling me “little dude” slide. The girl was barely breathing.

  “Merry Christmas, Star.” I didn’t want her upset with me either, in case she threw a gift for me under the tree.

  Suddenly, her eyes became as large as the apples sitting in the bowl on the table. “Why is this seat so hot with energy, Alex? Did you just have one of your visits?”

  I could hear someone coming down the steps. I was sure it was Mom. “I’ll tell you about it later. Yes.” Mom entered the kitchen already dressed for the day. Unlike Star and I, her hair was perfect.

  “Alex, you know not to come downstairs until everyone is ready,” Mom said.

  “Mom. I’m thirteen. You can trust me not to peek under the tree. Plus, Steve was snoring so loud it’s amazing Mrs. Horne from across the street didn’t call to complain. I was hungry, so I came down for some breakfast.”

  “Yeah, Stevie is a snorer, that’s for sure,” Star said.

  Mom frowned. “How would you know?”

  Star sighed. “Your son really doesn’t tell you anything, does he?”

  Mom filled her chest with air and was ready to release it when Steve walked into the kitchen and rubbed my head. The dope couldn’t even put on a shirt or some pajama pants. He was scratching his butt over his boxers again. I figured people his age, either couldn’t afford more clothes, or they didn’t like to wear them, even in the cold.

  “Merry Christmas, my dear Mother, my beautiful Star, squirt.”

  Star reached for his hand and kissed it. Mom released the air she was holding in before walking over to Steve and giving him a peck on the cheek.

  “Merry Christmas, who wants pancakes?” Mom asked. Steve and Star each answered as if they hadn’t eaten in days. I went back upstairs to change my clothes and wash up. While putting on some clean jeans, President Jefferson appeared.

  “Merry Christmas, President Jefferson. Nice to see you again.”

  “Good day to you, Alex.” />
  “Are you a ham or turkey guy for Christmas, President Jefferson? You have to try my grandmother’s sweet potatoes. They’re the bomb.”

  Thomas strolled around my room. He looked at my brother’s unmade cot and shook his head. “I tend to celebrate every day, Alex. Many men debate my religious beliefs. I do declare I am a spiritual man. I was raised Episcopalian. However, I have been influenced by many, including the English Deists.”

  “I’ve never heard of those guys. Do they hand out presents and eat banana cream pie on Christmas?”

  Thomas moved closer and smirked. “Deism is the idea that if you observe nature you will be convinced of the existence of a Creator. In my view, some religions have corrupted the purity of what should be simple and rational. I will stand with anyone who will fight for religious freedom, but I am not a man to speak much about my own personal beliefs. I suspect long after I am gone, many groups will want to claim me in their numbers.”

  “No biggie to me, President Jefferson. I have to go downstairs though. I don’t want my big brother thinking he can open my gifts. He did that the last time he was home. The only good thing was he got stuck with a Washington Redskins football shirt that had my name on the box. Mom should have known I’m a Miami Dolphins fan.”

  “What’s football, Alex? And why is Mr. Washington wearing a red face?”

  “Oh forget it. I guess it’s a good thing you old dudes didn’t have all the cool stuff we have now. You might not have wanted to fight with King George and gain your freedom. I gotta go. Mom’s calling me.”

  I hustled back down to the living room to find Steve shaking every box. After scolding my brother and getting a dirty look, I could hear a car pulling into the driveway. I ran outside to give Grandma and Grandpa a big hug. Besides, I wanted to grab the bag of goodies before my brother could shake them and break something. I grabbed the larger bags. Grandpa and Grandma brought in the smaller ones.

  Dad and Grandmother Helen made their way downstairs a few moments later. I thought it was time to open gifts, but no. Dad was not pleased with his eldest son. “Junior, have you no self-respect? It’s Christmas morning. Your family is here to celebrate, and you can’t even bother to throw on some clothes?”

  My brother begrudgingly made his way up the stairs with Star following behind. Five minutes later, they both came back down, Steve now wearing jeans and a pullover shirt. Success. Time to open gifts.

  “Who moved all the gifts?” Mom asked as she went searching under the tree. “You assured me you didn’t peek, Alex.”

  “I didn’t, Mom, I swear. Steve was shaking ‘em. It wasn’t me.” I was not going to take the fall for the gifts being moved.

  Everyone moved into a crooked circle with chairs and the sofa. Mom handed out the gifts given from her and Dad. After Mom, Grandma handed out the gifts from her and Grandpa, then Grandmother’s turn and later me. I picked up some small items for each of them. I found a stationery store in the mall selling letter writing paper with cool initials at the top and a pen to go with it for half-price. Everyone got the same thing, except for the initial at the top. I spent all my savings on that letter writing paper. My brother then handed out the gifts he had brought for everyone.

  With the gifts securely in front of us, Mom said, “Let’s savor this moment and take our time opening each gift.” She then whipped out a camera and started popping snapshots of every movement we made. I heard what she said, but I was a new teenager, which is almost an adult, on a mission. It was time to rip through those suckers without any hesitation.

  First box, a sweater. Second one, new underwear. Third box, socks. What? Was this a joke? Where was the good stuff? Finally, a twelve pack of blank tapes for my cassette player. Next box, an Oakland Raiders shirt. Was this a bad dream?

  Steve yelped. “Mom, why would you give me a frigging Dolphins shirt? I live in San Francisco. No way I’m a Dolphins rooter. I’m a Raiders fan.”

  I reached over and grabbed the Miami Dolphins shirt. I tossed Steve mine. I didn’t care if the Dolphins shirt was two sizes too large. It was much better than wearing a Raiders shirt.

  “Oh, what difference does it make?” Mom asked. “They’re both football shirts and I couldn’t remember who liked which team.” Some mom’s don’t understand much about football or how important it is to support your own team.

  The tiny box in my lap was from Steve. I opened it thinking he stuffed a crisp twenty-dollar bill inside. No such luck. It was another guitar pick. I stared at Steve. Had living in California made him think everyone sat around strumming guitars and looking at vases with swirling colored gobs of goo floating inside, like the one he brought for Mom and Dad the last time he was home for Christmas?

  “That pick is better than the one I gave you when I first got home, squirt,” Steve said. “Look at the back. It has an authentic replica of a Jerry Garcia autograph etched on it. My friend Phil number two told me that his friend Stoney has a friend Weezer, who has a friend Bongo, who sometimes works at the Fillmore West. Bongo told Weezer, who told Stoney, who told Phil number two, who told me, that he found it on the floor of the stage at the Fillmore. Since the Dead played there a few nights before he found it, maybe Jerry used it. If all that is true, that pick is better than gold. You’re welcome and Merry Christmas, squirt.”

  Was everyone listening to this nonsense? Mom accused me of being a nut job for learning history from presidents, but my brother gives me a beat up old guitar pick for Christmas and I was the crazy one? At least the pen and paper I gave him had a purpose. Stupid guitar pick.

  The next gift was a signed baseball that Grandmother Helen brought me from Baltimore. “A nice young man and his family moved into the house next door to mine. He plays for the Orioles. His wife is a lovely woman. I told her all about you and she got her husband Cal to sign this ball for you. I don’t watch much baseball since your grandfather went to heaven, but Cal must play baseball every day. He’s never home.”

  Now I knew everyone was crazy. “Uhm, Grandmother, are you telling me that Cal Ripken Jr. moved in next door to you and this ball was from him? He’s like the most famous ballplayer who ever played for the Orioles.”

  “Is he?” Grandmother Helen said with a large smile. “Your grandfather, rest his soul, never missed watching the Orioles on television. We would go to a few games a year. I fancied Jim Palmer when he pitched. He looked so good in those underwear commercials.”

  I jumped from my seat and gave my grandmother a giant hug. Finally, a gift I didn’t have to wear. I couldn’t wait to tell Bruce about my signed ball. Like me, Bruce was a big baseball fan. I was sure he would know all about Cal.

  It must have been a holiday for signed gifts. Mom went to Gordy’s Music Shop to buy a last minute gift for Star. Mom told everyone that she had planned to purchase Star a Grateful Dead shirt but came home with a signed record from Dylan James and the Overture.

  “I hope you like it, Star,” Mom said. “That record has an actual signature on it.” She looked at Steve before turning back to Star. “I’ve bought all my records from Gordy for years. When I went in there yesterday, Gordy introduced me to Dylan. He was there giving Gordy a gift. Gordy told me that he and Dylan are great friends and that Dylan and his band are very famous. I bought his new album and Dylan signed it for you.”

  I think Star was happy that everyone was finally making her feel like she was part of the family. Grandma asked to see the record. “Oh, I know all about Dylan. His real name is Stu Edrich. His mother and I play bridge. Years ago, when Stu was still in high school, we played cards at his mother’s home. Stu would play his music for us while we were sipping tea.”

  “Yeah, he helped me clean our gutters and did some yard work a few times too,” Grandpa said.

  “No he didn’t, Frank,” Grandma said. “You are thinking of that Ullrich boy. Ullrich, not Edrich.”

  My brother grabbed the album. “Mom, are you telling me that you met Dylan James yesterday and you didn’t know who he was?”
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  “Oh, I’ve heard one or two of his songs on the radio, dear.”

  The conversation went back and forth around the room for a few minutes discussing Dylan and how impressed my brother and Star were that Mom met Dylan. I sat there thinking, big whoop. She met a guitar player. I met President Lincoln at Gettysburg and President Jefferson in my own front yard.

  Everyone finished opening up gifts with lots of smiles and happiness in the room. Dad made a batch of his special eggnog. He let my brother and Star have some. Grandma Marie thanked me for the writing paper and told me she would write me a long letter and mail it to me. I was confused why she would write me. I saw her a couple of times a week. What more could she tell me in a letter?

  After a few hours of lounging around enjoying more smiles and tales, we were ready to sit down for dinner. The delicious smells were wafting from the kitchen all afternoon. Mom removed her traditional Christmas apron that read, “Everyone stay out of my kitchen except Santa.”

  The table was set with Mom’s fine china. Red cloth napkins rested next to each plate. In the center of the table were the annual Santa and Mrs. Claus salt and peppershakers. One extra place was set. Steve had a friend, Glenn, who would show up on holidays. The place was set just in case he showed up.

  Dad said grace. The food dishes passed around the table faster than the collection plates at church. I filled my plate with turkey, dressing, corn, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, olives and one burnt roll. It was tradition, that in our family, the rolls have a tinge of black on the bottom, or it wasn’t Christmas.

  Mom asked my brother to slow down and enjoy his meal. I liked having him around at meals. It took some of the pressure off me. Star commented on how beautiful the table looked and that she was missing her family. That was when my brother admitted he spent the last two years with Star at her family’s home. He had told Mom and Dad he was staying with a friend but was never more specific.

  “What plans do the two of you have when you go back to California?” Grandmother Helen asked Steve and Star. “Assuming following the Grateful Dead around is no longer an option.”

  Steve continued shoveling potatoes and gravy in his mouth. I shook my head. So did Dad and Grandpa. Star hesitated at first, but began speaking with a confident tone.

  “In late spring, I’m heading to the University of Oregon to get my Master’s in Forest Operations Planning and Management. It’s a sore subject because Stevie doesn’t want to leave California. My heart is with Stevie but my home is in the forest. I want to ensure our national parks and forests will be around for future generations.”

  Mom dropped her fork. “You didn’t say anything about getting a Master’s degree, dear.”

  “You never asked, Mrs. Schuler. I want to work for the national parks system one day and the best way to achieve my goal is with a Master’s degree. Who knows, one day maybe I’ll even work towards my doctorate.”

  Mom sat like a statute. Dad smiled.

  “A wonderful ambition,” Grandmother Helen replied. “And you Steven? I can’t imagine following a rock band around the country pays very well?”

  Steve attempted to talk through a mouth full of sweet potatoes. “Why is everyone concerned about my future? Phil number two read my tarot cards and told me that I will play a big part with a major company very soon. His cards are never wrong.”

  Grandpa shook his long fingers at Steve. “Yeah, asking people if they want to biggie size their fries in the drive through window.”

  “Frank!” Grandma Marie yelled.

  “Well no grandson of mine is going to lay around some commune with a fella who has a number for a name only to eventually hand out pamphlets at the airport for the Hare Krishnas’. Come on home, Steven. I’ll get you a job with my old company. With a little elbow grease you can make foreman.”

  Star was sitting next to me. I could see her begin to tear up. She rubbed her nose and sniffled. “The universe will offer a path for me and Stevie. We have always found our way and will once we get back to California. I remember when we graduated last summer and Stevie talked about moving home. Phil number two opened up his apartment and his heart to us for only four hundred dollars a month. His generosity kept us as one.”

  “Hold the phone,” Dad said. “The both of you live with this Phil person? I thought Phil was Junior’s only roommate.”

  Star sighed. “This family really needs to open your minds to free expression and better communication.”

  “You are so right, Stargazer,” Grandmother Helen said. “It’s Christmas. This of all days should be a day we give thanks and appreciate all the good Lord has provided us. I’ll bet no one argues at your home on Christmas.”

  “Oh please, we argue all the time,” Star replied. “We argue which is the best national park and what company makes the best camping boots, but we argue.”

  Everyone continued eating and swapping stories of Christmas days past. I ate until my belly was about to burst. I later fell asleep on the living room floor surrounded with a loving family and a few ugly shirts from Grandma I would never wear.

  ~~~*~~~

  Chapter Eighteen