Hi, Diary. It's been a long time since I've written in you. I have a good excuse this time: I was gone
On the day after my birthday, which was May 9th, Dad asked me, “Do you want to ride along with me to the Monkey Ward's store?” Actually, Diary. it’s Montgomery Ward.
"Sure," I said.
In the car, Dad said, “I’m going to pick up a pair of car racks’ from the catalog lady.
Mrs. Walters, the catalog lady, sure is a busybody. When she asked Dad how many kids were in our family and he told her, she said, "My goodness, Doctor Hoffman, you sure are one busy man." They both laughed. Mrs. Walters’ face turned as red as a boiled beet. I didn't think what she said was that funny.
Next, Dad and a Montgomery Ward salesman each carried a long, cardboard box out to the car. The boxes barely fit in the trunk. The salesman tied the trunk lid handle to the rear bumper. Then, we got into the car and Dad backed out of the parking space very carefully and then drove to the gas station close to his office. The nice man who has a mustache like Dad’s opened the boxes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m looking for the written directions.”
“Why?”
“You and Doc want them put together right, don’t you?” He was smiling.
“I guess so,” I said.
He found the directions and eventually strapped both racks to top of our car.
"What do you think, Doc?" asked the man.
"They look pretty nice," said Dad. “How much?”
“Will a buck work?”
“Sure will,” said Dad.
I didn't think those racks looked good. They made the car look stupid.
"I'm going to keep them up there," Dad said after we got in the car, He turned the key and started the engine.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I'll need two men and a boy plus a civil engineer to help me put them up again. That's why."
"Oh."
"Besides, I'll need a ladder."
"Why'd you buy them?"
"Because we'll need them in June."
"For what?"
"For the tent, which I'm going to buy at the Surplus Store in a few minutes."
"Oh, you didn't say we were going there."
"Do you have anything else to do?"
"No."
Why he needed a tent, Dad didn't explain. We stopped at the Army-Navy store next to the Building and Loan across from Daly's drugstore. It was right next to Shorty’s place. Shorty’s a little Greek guy, no taller than I, who blocks hats. He also walks like a penguin. Shorty blocks Dad’s hats whenever Dad gets real drunk and his hat looks as if an elephant sat on it.
At the surplus store, Dad bought not only a huge World War II tent that a lot of soldiers could fit in, he also bought a bunch of goose down sleeping bags. Two of them were 'mummy' bags. They were called mummy bags for a good reason. When you climbed inside and zipped them up, which I did in the store, I must've looked just like an Egyptian mummy. Except I was alive. Dad also bought a two-man pup tent.
The man in the surplus store put the tent and all the sleeping bags between and on the racks and strapped everything down using straps with buckles he sold to Dad.
When we got back in the car, I asked, "Is all that stuff for us?"
"They're not for Mrs. Hahn or the Nelsons. I’ll explain why at a later time.”
And that was it. Later finally came after supper one night. That’s when Dad and Mother called all us kids into the parlor.
"Tell them, Jean," said Dad.
"Well, we're going to take a long family vacation this summer and go to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming."
"Wow," we kids yelled excitedly.
"When do we go?" asked Dork.
"After you kids finish Catholic summer school."
"Darn," I said. "Do we hafta go to Summer School?"
"You certainly do," said Mother, giving me that “I’m going to kill you” look. I knew well enough to keep my mouth shut. Or maybe I wouldn't be going to Yellowstone.
On June 18th, our two weeks of Catholic summer school finally ended, thank God. (Just kidding, God).
On Saturday, our family began our trip. Of course, Dad drove -- and we rode in — the Oldsmobile. Whenever Dad buys a new car, it's always Oldsmobile, Oldsmobile, and Oldsmobile. Nothing else in the world will do.
With a bunch of maps Dad got from the Conoco gas station headquarters in Texas somewhere, we were ready as we'd ever be. He had explained to me he'd know which highways to take in order to get us all to Yellowstone, with its many wild animals and a zillion stinky geysers (Yuck). I'll tell you more about those rotten egg, steamy geysers later.
And, boy, was our Oldsmobile packed. Let me tell you. That trunk was filled to the gills. The rear bumper was awfully close to the road.
Dad forgot to buy center poles for the big tent. When Doc III asked about poles, everyone went, "Oh, oh, the old man's going to be on the warpath." I could see it in everyone's eyes.
But nothing happened. Dad stopped at a lumber yard in a small town. Since it was Saturday afternoon, the place was closed. All the lumber yards were closed until Monday.
On Monday, Dad bought a pair of eight-foot two by fours. Those poles didn't matter anyway. Because we didn't sleep in the tent until we got to Yellowstone.
Each late afternoon, Dad and Mother would tell us kids to be on a lookout for places that had big signs that read CABINS. When we saw the signs, we got excited each time until we saw the NO VACANCY signs. That meant that all their cabins were taken for the night. If there was a place that still had a VACANCY sign, we stopped there. Dad would always knock on the OFFICE door or press the doorbell. Sometimes when the owner found out our family included two adults and five kids, he shook his head. No room in the inn for the Hoffman family.
Now, I know how Mary and Joseph felt when they tried to rent a room in a Bethlehem inn.
Some of us kids had to sleep on the floor. But I always did. Every night. Mother wouldn't let me sleep in a sleeping bag, either. She took along the rubber sheet for me and put it on the floor. Then, she grabbed a sheet from one of the cabin's beds and put it over the rubber sheet. Then, she gave me a cabin blanket to cover myself. At least, my pillow was soft.
Wouldn't you know? When I woke up in the morning, I found out I had peed while I slept.
Mother got mad as can be and called me, “Mister Piss Pants.”
“I don’t piss my pants,” I said.
"Just let it be," Dad told her.
"No, I'm not going to leave Gordon Bartholomew’s piss sheet and blanket for the owner to discover. It's not right."
I wished she would've left the wet things in the cabin. Mother made me go with her to the office. She told the man or lady there what I had done. “No problem,: they’d say, smiling at me. “We wash bedclothes every day, anyway.”
So, if they washed sheets and blankets every day, why did Mother insist on taking me and the stinky things to the cabin owners each morning? I knew we'd never come back to the same place. Because Dad said we were going to take a different route when we’d head back home.
Oops. Supper’s ready. I’ll write more, later.
On the day after my birthday, which was May 9th, Dad asked me, “Do you want to ride along with me to the Monkey Ward's store?” Actually, Diary. it’s Montgomery Ward.
"Sure," I said.
In the car, Dad said, “I’m going to pick up a pair of car racks’ from the catalog lady.
Mrs. Walters, the catalog lady, sure is a busybody. When she asked Dad how many kids were in our family and he told her, she said, "My goodness, Doctor Hoffman, you sure are one busy man." They both laughed. Mrs. Walters’ face turned as red as a boiled beet. I didn't think what she said was that funny.
Next, Dad and a Montgomery Ward salesman each carried a long, cardboard box out to the car. The boxes barely fit in the trunk. The salesman tied the trunk lid handle to the rear bumper. Then, we got into the car and Dad backed out of the parking space very carefully and then drove to the gas station close to his office. The nice man who has a mustache like Dad’s opened the boxes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m looking for the written directions.”
“Why?”
“You and Doc want them put together right, don’t you?” He was smiling.
“I guess so,” I said.
He found the directions and eventually strapped both racks to top of our car.
"What do you think, Doc?" asked the man.
"They look pretty nice," said Dad. “How much?”
“Will a buck work?”
“Sure will,” said Dad.
I didn't think those racks looked good. They made the car look stupid.
"I'm going to keep them up there," Dad said after we got in the car, He turned the key and started the engine.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I'll need two men and a boy plus a civil engineer to help me put them up again. That's why."
"Oh."
"Besides, I'll need a ladder."
"Why'd you buy them?"
"Because we'll need them in June."
"For what?"
"For the tent, which I'm going to buy at the Surplus Store in a few minutes."
"Oh, you didn't say we were going there."
"Do you have anything else to do?"
"No."
Why he needed a tent, Dad didn't explain. We stopped at the Army-Navy store next to the Building and Loan across from Daly's drugstore. It was right next to Shorty’s place. Shorty’s a little Greek guy, no taller than I, who blocks hats. He also walks like a penguin. Shorty blocks Dad’s hats whenever Dad gets real drunk and his hat looks as if an elephant sat on it.
At the surplus store, Dad bought not only a huge World War II tent that a lot of soldiers could fit in, he also bought a bunch of goose down sleeping bags. Two of them were 'mummy' bags. They were called mummy bags for a good reason. When you climbed inside and zipped them up, which I did in the store, I must've looked just like an Egyptian mummy. Except I was alive. Dad also bought a two-man pup tent.
The man in the surplus store put the tent and all the sleeping bags between and on the racks and strapped everything down using straps with buckles he sold to Dad.
When we got back in the car, I asked, "Is all that stuff for us?"
"They're not for Mrs. Hahn or the Nelsons. I’ll explain why at a later time.”
And that was it. Later finally came after supper one night. That’s when Dad and Mother called all us kids into the parlor.
"Tell them, Jean," said Dad.
"Well, we're going to take a long family vacation this summer and go to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming."
"Wow," we kids yelled excitedly.
"When do we go?" asked Dork.
"After you kids finish Catholic summer school."
"Darn," I said. "Do we hafta go to Summer School?"
"You certainly do," said Mother, giving me that “I’m going to kill you” look. I knew well enough to keep my mouth shut. Or maybe I wouldn't be going to Yellowstone.
On June 18th, our two weeks of Catholic summer school finally ended, thank God. (Just kidding, God).
On Saturday, our family began our trip. Of course, Dad drove -- and we rode in — the Oldsmobile. Whenever Dad buys a new car, it's always Oldsmobile, Oldsmobile, and Oldsmobile. Nothing else in the world will do.
With a bunch of maps Dad got from the Conoco gas station headquarters in Texas somewhere, we were ready as we'd ever be. He had explained to me he'd know which highways to take in order to get us all to Yellowstone, with its many wild animals and a zillion stinky geysers (Yuck). I'll tell you more about those rotten egg, steamy geysers later.
And, boy, was our Oldsmobile packed. Let me tell you. That trunk was filled to the gills. The rear bumper was awfully close to the road.
Dad forgot to buy center poles for the big tent. When Doc III asked about poles, everyone went, "Oh, oh, the old man's going to be on the warpath." I could see it in everyone's eyes.
But nothing happened. Dad stopped at a lumber yard in a small town. Since it was Saturday afternoon, the place was closed. All the lumber yards were closed until Monday.
On Monday, Dad bought a pair of eight-foot two by fours. Those poles didn't matter anyway. Because we didn't sleep in the tent until we got to Yellowstone.
Each late afternoon, Dad and Mother would tell us kids to be on a lookout for places that had big signs that read CABINS. When we saw the signs, we got excited each time until we saw the NO VACANCY signs. That meant that all their cabins were taken for the night. If there was a place that still had a VACANCY sign, we stopped there. Dad would always knock on the OFFICE door or press the doorbell. Sometimes when the owner found out our family included two adults and five kids, he shook his head. No room in the inn for the Hoffman family.
Now, I know how Mary and Joseph felt when they tried to rent a room in a Bethlehem inn.
Some of us kids had to sleep on the floor. But I always did. Every night. Mother wouldn't let me sleep in a sleeping bag, either. She took along the rubber sheet for me and put it on the floor. Then, she grabbed a sheet from one of the cabin's beds and put it over the rubber sheet. Then, she gave me a cabin blanket to cover myself. At least, my pillow was soft.
Wouldn't you know? When I woke up in the morning, I found out I had peed while I slept.
Mother got mad as can be and called me, “Mister Piss Pants.”
“I don’t piss my pants,” I said.
"Just let it be," Dad told her.
"No, I'm not going to leave Gordon Bartholomew’s piss sheet and blanket for the owner to discover. It's not right."
I wished she would've left the wet things in the cabin. Mother made me go with her to the office. She told the man or lady there what I had done. “No problem,: they’d say, smiling at me. “We wash bedclothes every day, anyway.”
So, if they washed sheets and blankets every day, why did Mother insist on taking me and the stinky things to the cabin owners each morning? I knew we'd never come back to the same place. Because Dad said we were going to take a different route when we’d head back home.
Oops. Supper’s ready. I’ll write more, later.