Christmas Rakes for the Homeless (Part 3)
Grandfather walked for a few more minutes and then knocked on his son's door. It was high noon. His son and daughter-in-law greeted him and they all wished each other Merry Christmas in perfunctory manner. The brats were still in their pajamas, lounging on the couch, playing with their shiny new gadgets unwrapped earlier that morning. They sort of looked up at Grandfather and said hello and Merry Christmas. All they really cared about was how many smackers were inside the cards they never bothered to read.
The usual routine was to unwrap gifts first and then nibble the stringy ham and soupy scalloped potatoes from Costco. But not this year. Grandfather insisted they eat before he gave his special gift to his darling grandchildren. The brats perked up hearing this: special? More dough?
So the family ate and the adults talked while the kids played a game on their phones that entailed murdering and dismembering thuggish elves and putting a pistol to the head of Santa's scantily-clad mistress. It was all in good fun, though.
The meal concluded. The brats were losing their minds in anticipation of the money. At last they gathered around the fake tree and Grandfather pulled out the cards from his back pocket. He handed them to the brats and they ripped the cards apart.
NO GREEN! They stared up at Grandfather and their lips trembled. They stared up at their parents. The parents were mystified. Grandfather told them to read the cards. They read the cards and didn't bother holding back their disappointment. The gifts were in the garage. Go out and get them. What the hell? No cash! The old codger probably bought us a tent or sleeping bag! Forget that! We don't camp!
Out to the garage the brats sulked and skulked. Grandfather and parents followed. The son had a feeling his father was up to some Christmas mischief like those incidents he pulled when the son was growing up. These pranks always proved memorable.
Grandfather directed the brats to an area where the rakes leaned up against a wall. The wheelbarrow was right beside them. The grandchildren were confused. They'd never seen a rake before and didn't know what was happening. The son knew what was happening. He right then and there had a casual epiphany that revealed how he and his wife had been terrible parents in the formative years of their children's lives. He said nothing.
The grand kids remained frozen. Grandfather grabbed the rakes and held them up. These are for raking leaves. He handed the rakes to the grand kids. They held them like they were sticks of dynamite with the fuses lit. They didn't know what to do, so Grandfather asked for the boy's rake. He demonstrated proper hand position and expert raking motion, then handed it back to the boy. The grandchildren took up their rakes. Grandfather said they should all go out to the yard. It was time for a job. The son rolled the wheelbarrow out and his wife followed him in silence.
They all went out of the garage and stood in a circle on the mattress of leaves. In fact, a few strays were falling at that very moment, the last ones of the season. Grandfather asked for the girl's rake. This is how you rake leaves. He demonstrated and raked some leaves into a pile. Once we rake them up into piles, we load them into the wheelbarrow and dump them in the street. The city comes along and picks them up.
The grandchildren looked at him in disbelief. They were ready to bawl. Grandfather told them the rakes and wheelbarrow were their Christmas presents (same for the husband and wife), useful tools for a job that he would pay each grand child $500 to perform, if their performance met his high standards of leaf raking and disposal. He figured the yard would need roughly three hours of raking. The weather was perfect and the offer was only good for this day. Right now. Take it or leave it.
Grandfather asked if they wanted the job. No raking, no money. Simple as that.
They hesitated. They consulted. They argued. Their parents left them alone because they didn't know what to say.
As this went on, Grandfather pulled out his phone and texted to Larry: it's on. Come around to the yard.
The grand kids said no. They didn't feel like raking on Christmas. Their parents said nothing.
Larry, Frank and Milton materialized.
The parents looked puzzled.
Grandfather introduced them as Larry, Frank and Milton. He said they were homeless men, brothers, who lived in the encampment nearby. This was their dog. They had just met and Grandfather had hired them to rake leaves in case the grand kids didn't want to. A leaf-free lawn was going to be his present to the family and he'd prefer to spend the cash on his relatives, but if they didn't want it, so be it. This was his backup plan. The damn leaves were getting raked up no matter what.
The wife started to say something, but the son shot her a look and she didn't say a word. The old man was on roll so let him keep rolling. He was alive and engaged with the world and they were not. The son knew that now.
Nothing from the grand kids. Grandfather told Larry and Frank to pick out a rake and get to work. Larry chose red, Frank chose green. They staked out positions on the yard, and started raking with a strategy in mind. They knew how to rake. They'd raked ten million leaves in their Sellwood childhood.
Brother and sister verged on tears. They conferred. Now they wanted the job! Please! Grandfather told them to get work clothes and sneakers on and get back here in five minutes or no job. They didn't have any work clothes but they didn't know that. They sprinted away screaming like Puritans at a witch burning.
The son was smiling, nodding. He didn't say a word to his father. He did tell his wife he had to make a quick trip to the big box retailer to pick up something he forgot. This being capitalist America, the store would naturally be open on Christmas Day and paying their employees an extra 15 cents an hour.
Five minutes later, the grandchildren were geared up and ready to do battle. Grandfather told them to report to Larry and Frank and receive instructions. He handed them rakes and off they trudged.
Grandfather knew how he would coax these Freddy freeloaders into extra hard work. He grabbed the remaining rake and began dancing with it like it was Ginger Rodgers to his Fred Astaire. Then he held the rake like a tommy gun and blasted the coppers like James Cagney did in White Heat. You'll never take me alive! yelled Grandfather in his best gangster voice. The kids were dumbstruck by his strange voice. Larry and Frank laughed.
The grand kids quickly got into it. Larry and Frank encouraged them. Milton even pitched in by nosing leaves into small piles.
Grandfather raked as well, off in a far corner of the yard, and ordered his thoughts during the labor. Raking can do that.
Work progressed. The son pulled up in his sedan. He carried two rakes out to the yard and leaned them against a picnic table. His wife gave him a smile. They went inside to change their clothes. The grand kids kept raking. They got a rhythm going. That happens when you rake leaves.
At one point, Grandfather instructed the grand kids to try out a James Cagney-gangster insult on him. He ripped off one, C'mon you filthy geezer, get to work and then it was their turn. They gave it a try and cracked up before finishing. They tried again and pulled it off. It was such glorious fun! Then they riffed on their own. Hey you old fart wizard, fork over the loot. Hey you senile coot in diapers, cough up the cash. Grandfather yukked it up with every new improvisation. Larry and Frank joined in the madness.
The parents showed up in work clothes and they went to work. They raked as a family. They raked with two homeless men and a dog. The piles grew. They implemented Larry and Frank's unique system of raking and piling of leaves. Every American family used to have a unique system when American families raked leaves together in the fall football afternoons. They don't anymore.
Two hours elapsed. They had created two enormous piles the size of haystacks. The grand kids stood in front of the piles and glowed with admiration. Then on pure instinct, the boy and girl sprinted toward a pile and dove in headlong and screaming. They tunneled through, stood up, and dove in again. Milton plowed in, barking, frenzied. The dad joined them. Mom was next.
Grandfather watched it all smiling. A few minutes later he called the grand kids over. They were soaked with sweat and panting. While the parents tidied up the piles, Grandfather peeled off five Ben Franklins for each kid. They rubbed and kissed the dollars with delight like Tiny Tim might have done with a toy, had he ever received one.
He next paid Larry and Frank 500 clams each. Milton got a $50.
Grandfather said he was starving. How about some leftovers outside? The mom thought it a grand idea.
Larry and Frank shook hands with Grandfather, waved to everyone, and started walking away with Milton.
The kids wouldn't stand for it. They asked their father if Larry and Frank could stay for leftovers. Especially Milton!
Dad said yes, of course, and went inside with his wife to whip the meal together.
Larry, Frank, Grandfather and his grand kids sat at a picnic table.
Grandfather asked the brothers if they would share their story of how they became homeless.
Once the meal was set out on the table, they did.