Enough to Miss Christmas

I carried the conversational ball by rambling on with stories of my teaching in Alaska and my stay at various stations around the world. She'd traveled little except for an occasional business trip with her father. Her mother was too sick for real vacations. I talked of growing up and all the opportunities that lay before her that I was sure her father would provide if she asked. While she remained unresponsive, I sensed a burning curiosity beneath her reticence; a deep need to know how so-called regular people lived. Whom could she ask? Not those around her, her father, a nun-teacher, the transient hired help. I asked her about relatives. Her mother's parents died before she was born. They were victims of a highly publicized commercial airliner disaster overseas.

"That's why we have our own plane. My mother would never fly in those other ones." Like the rest of us poor regular people.

There was a distant aunt, a widow living on the west coast, and Paul's gift-sending, never-visiting, European-living parents. Karen had never met them.

An hour into our drive Karen asked a few questions, expressing interest in how I grew up and what I did with my family. I answered honestly but I could tell she thought I was exaggerating, or making up stories.

When she expressed doubt about an incident, I suggested she ask my mother, if she's lucid.

"She'll tell you. We were as happy as bunnies in a clover patch. It was a great family. We adored each other."

"Then why did you run away?" she asked, catching me off guard.

"I didn't," I answered without thinking.

"It sounds like you did. You haven't seen anyone in your family in years."

While her comments stung, I wasn't about to explain in detail.

"I married and my husband served all over the world." Then, in a snippy tone I added, "We were too poor to afford our own jet to bop back to Connecticut whenever we felt like it."

While she pondered my response, she didn't pursue the subject. Our conversation drifted back to silence. I reached for the radio. "You are allowed to listen to the radio, aren't you?"

Karen gave me a look. "You keep making fun of me."

I laughed. "No, Karen. Not you; just your life style. We're worlds apart. I'm learning too. We regular people are very different."

"You say 'pee' and 'pissed' and walk around in your underwear and say whatever is on your mind."

"Sorry, but true. But we regular people do a lot of cool things and have lots of fun too."

"Do you do that in front of my father?"