leaning back, hands clasped behind my head, with a smug look on my face.
Mom, holding back the urge to laugh again, says; “Zachary, eat your eggs before they get cold.” She turns and runs out of the room, while saying; “I can’t do this, I can’t do this.”
I look at my dad, “what’s the matter with Mom? Why is she laughing and saying ‘I can’t do this’?”
My dad smiles as he says, “oh it’s nothing. She finally realized the punch line to a joke I told her and it’s ‘I can’t do this’.” Dad looks at his watch, “now you better hurry or you’ll be late for…”
I get startled, when the neighbor’s dog barks at me. Walking into the house, I put the milk in the refrigerator and plop in front of the TV; to finish watching the Mystery Marathon.
The next morning, as usual, I’m in a hurry and run out the door. Not paying attention, I trip over the gnome and it laughs at me. After I get up and cuss it out, I quickly head down the street. No, it’s not a typo. This, Solar Powered gnome, laughs when you touch it. After I enter the schoolyard, realizing I left the house too early, I sit down at one of the picnic tables and while waiting for the bell to ring, I muse about how my dad got that laughing gnome.
Here’s what happened: A few weeks ago, my father won it, while attending the Annual Saint Patrick’s Day Dance. They were giving prizes for things like, the best walking stick, best costume, and the best dancer. Well, my father, who always accepts a dare, accepted one from our new neighbor, Mister Snift, to enter the Irish Jig contest. I believe the green beverages he was drinking had something to do with his decision. Yes, he made a fool of himself. At the end of the dance, everyone on the dance floor clapped as Mom and Dad walked towards our table. Were the people admiring the way my parents danced or the fact that Dad fell down three times. Towards the end of the evening, the judges announced the winners of the various contests.
When my dad hears his name, he rises from his chair and my mom says, while tugging on his shirtsleeve, “do not accept the prize; it’s a gag gift. It was donated by Mr. Snift.” Then she pulled him closer to her and whispered in his ear. “That prize is not supposed to go to you. It is supposed to go to Stella Gouski. I don’t know what happened; the fix was in. She and her new fiancé were supposed to win.”
Realizing the judges made a mistake; my dad graciously refuses the prize and sits down. Before a different winner can be called, Mr. Snift walks up to the stage and requests the microphone.
With the microphone in his hands, Mr. Snift turns to my dad and says. “What’s the matter, are you shy? Everyone clap your hands; help me coax this bashful guy.”
Everyone gets up and starts clapping; some even start whistling. At first, my dad refuses. After several taunts, he meekly walks toward the stage to accept the prize. It seems the taunts bothered him more than my mom’s insistence not to accept the prize.
As he approaches the stage, he mumbles. “I can’t help it if I’m a better dancer than Stella Gouski. Everyone wants me to accept the prize, what else am I supposed to do. I know my wife is sore. Maybe I should accept the prize and head straight for the door.”
He walks up on the stage, as Mister Snift starts to hand him the prize it starts laughing. He opens the box, pulls out the gnome and proudly holds it up for everyone to see.
While holding the gnome over his head, he says, “I graciously accept this prize for myself and the one who danced the jig with me.” In an effort to soften the tongue-lashing, he will receive on the way home, he continues. “I wouldn’t have won if it wasn’t for my partner and wife who I affectionately call Sweet Pea. I’m amazed that she did all those twirls and still stood on her feet. I know if I tried something like that, I would have fallen flat on my seat.”
Everyone claps again as they turn and face my mom; this causes her to get up, curtsy, and say. “Thank you, thank you, sometimes the music causes me to get carried away.” As she sits down, she looks at me and mentions, “I didn’t know what else to say.” Seeing me doing my best not to laugh, she pauses before continuing, “Zachary, what’s so funny; and why are you looking at me that way?”
I, with a smirk on my face, reply, “aw come on Mom, you can do better than that. I know from personal experience, you can do a twenty minute lecture at the drop of a hat.”
I receive, ‘The Look’, it tells me I better stop or change the subject. You know that look, the one that needs no explanation.
As things quiet down, Stella Gouski says to her Fiancé. “I’m glad we didn’t win that thing. It looks like the one in Snift’s front yard; if we get one I want it to be one that doesn’t laugh.”
The next day, when Stella got home from work, her gnome was waiting for her, with a note attached “SURPRISE” and it’s signed ‘The Lady’s League’.
Mister Snift, who was in charge of the prizes, earlier informed the Lady’s League he would deliver Stella’s gnome as soon as it arrived.
Dad could have saved himself a lot of grief if he didn’t accept Mister Snift’s dare. For the next week, Mom would pack his lunch with all the things he dislikes. He didn’t mind, it gave him an excuse to visit THE GREASEY PORTIONS, a fast food place a block away from where he works.
As he bites into the sandwich, grease trickles down his arm and he mumbles with a smile on his face, “Sweet Pea all of this is your fault. Keep making those weird sandwiches because you’re mad at me.”
It also seems odd that Mister Snift’s gnome went missing the day of the dance.
Realizing, I have a solution to my problem, I stand up, throw my right fist above my head and shout, “THAT’S IT, MY FIRST CASE. I’LL FIND THE MISSING GNOME.” I sit down, when I notice everyone looking at me, and whisper; “I will, I’ll find out what happened to it.”
Realizing I still have time before the bell rings I start thinking, where do I start, where do I start. I know, when I get home, I’ll ask Mister Snift if he knows where it is. If he doesn’t, I’ll search for it without telling him. This way I can marvel him and everyone else with my capabilities. The bell rings and I enter the building.
When I get home, just my luck, Mister Snift isn’t home. The next day is Saturday and while cutting the grass I notice Mister Snift; I walk up to him and ask, “Mister Snift can I ask you something.” Mister Snift looks irked but nods yes. “When you noticed your gnome missing, did you call the police that day?”
Startled by the question it took a moment for Mister Snift to reply. “No, I didn’t want to bother them over something so trivial; besides I didn’t like it.”
Then I mention; “it’s funny that your gnome and the one my dad won look and do exactly the same thing.”
Shocked, Mister Snift replies. “Well, gnomes are popular, besides your dad’s is brighter; whereas mine was faded. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do. It was nice chatting with you.”
I go back to cutting the grass and ponder my next move. Now what do I do? With no police report, it’s not an official theft. Since it’s not official, I can’t outsmart the police and that means no newspaper story. I would love to see the headlines, “LOCAL BOY OUTWITS THE POLICE”. Now stop fretting about what you can’t control; baby steps Z; start with baby steps.
It’s a good thing I didn’t brag about how I’m going to find Mister Snift’s missing gnome. It’s two weeks before Christmas and I wonder if I did the right thing by telling my Grandparents that all I want for Christmas is a genuine Ulster Overcoat and Deerstalker hat.
Christmas comes and goes. I have my overcoat and hat, but no gnome. Spring arrives, still no gnome; so far, all my efforts have been in vain. I contemplate about switching careers. If I can’t find the gnome then what good am I? I even stop wearing the coat and hat. My mother makes me take the coat to the cleaners. On the way there, I was hoping someone would steal it. As the lady at the counter writes up the order, she jots down a number. Curious, I ask her what that is. She doesn’
t speak much English and points to the tag inside the coat. Suddenly a light goes off in my head; it’s a serial number.
Now if the coat has a serial number, then the gnome might. I quickly walk home and when I get there, I immediately turn the gnome on its side. The color on its bottom is slightly off; like if it was older. Sure enough, it has a number etched into it. Returning it to its upright position, I go inside and turn the computer on.
My mother looks at me and says, “Zachary, at least hang up your coat and take your shoes off.” When I do that, she says, “Zachary, before you get on the computer wipe the dirt off the floor.”
At first, I was going to defy her. Reality sets in and I do what she wants. I locate the gnome’s manufacturer; punch in the serial number, and Mister Snift’s name pops up with the date of purchase. I’m surprised that he would give my dad a three-year-old gnome. Why would he do this; I wonder, as I stare at his name. They aren’t cheap so why refuse to acknowledge that it’s his.
The next day my folks go shopping. Once the car leaves the driveway, I go outside and muscle the gnome into the garage. With the gnome on the floor of the garage, I examine it closely. Something doesn’t look right; I decide I need to put it on the workbench to get a closer look. OH OOO! I’m in trouble now.