By Warren Zaretsky
It was Christmas Eve and I felt like the last survivor of the Alamo. The neighborhood kids had me surrounded, I was under siege. Bombs bursting overhead outside the garden walls, gunshots, rapid fire machine gun blasts of firecrackers and whistling rockets split the night air.
A dozen dogs barked with a vengeance. Some wise-ass tossed a cherry bomb over the wall and into the yard, then another. It was legitimately scary and I wished I had a gun. Then suddenly it stopped. Either they were out of ammunition, reloading, or they had fixed bayonettes and were coming over the wall. I waited, just behind the patio door, a kitchen knife in each hand and one clenched between my teeth. The best I could hope for was a Mexican stand-off.
Remember the Alamo, Christmas in Mexico, and me.
______________________________________________
Yes, that's wandering Warren in the Santa suit.
No comments:
Post a Comment