At Pop Pop’s old house on Skipper’s Cove, he kept a case of pineapple pop in the garage. We’d never seen such a beverage before but we liked how it fizzled. Pop Pop’s yard was a sea of smooth rocks that was never fun to walk on but fantastic to behold. In the backyard, we creaked on the dock and, avoiding the fish hooks, checked the crab pots. The smooth, green lagoon never surrendered its bounty.
Every summer, we’d dress up in one theme or another and hop on Pop Pop’s boat. We’d circle the ‘hood just before it spit us into the choppy Atlantic for the Festival of Lights parade. One year we were hillbillies. Ma made me play the moonshine jug while she played the washboard. Someone built an outhouse on the back of the boat. Ange bought a package of bright red Lee Press On Nails especially for the occasion. We never won any prizes but liked how the neighbors decorated their houses. The one-level next to Pop Pop always had an enormous light-up sombrero planted firmly in the rocks.
That was the only night of the year that I didn’t mind sleeping in the room with the psychadelic red and white dot-square wallpaper, SATURDAY EVENING POST artwork and creepy-faced dolls.
Filed under: Happy Family |