Life is Like a Tootsie Roll® Lollipop

CHARLIE WAS THE UNFORGETTABLE SANTA CLAUS MAN

            His size.  That is my most immediate memory of Charlie.  Millenniums ago, my sister and I giggled in childish delight as we affectionately referred to him as the “Santa Claus Man.”

            Yet, in spite of his global waistline, Charlie retained a handsome face and appearance.  His dark brown eyes, neatly trimmed mustache, and touch-of-grey sideburns gave him a sturdy and quite distinguished countenance.

            When he smiled, it was like breaking into a rich marshmallow-filled chocolate candy bar.  His six foot, three frame allowed him to transport his surplus pounds with an air of naturalness and style.  “Fat, but good-looking,” is how my aunt, Charlie’s mother, often described him.

            Although my memory of Charlie is vague prior to the time he was drafted, I do, however, remember quite vividly the day of his return.  I was probably 9 or 10 years old when I glimpsed his mountainous figure walking down the dusty hill.

            “It’s Charlie! Charlie’s back!”  I exclaimed as I turbulently threw open the screen door and raced excitedly up the hill to greet him.  My sister was only a breath behind me and soon both of us had put a dead man’s lock on each of his bulky thighs.

            Happiness kicked off its shoes that day and danced delightfully inside our hearts.  Laughing and crying simultaneously, his mother hugged him for a long, tender moment.

            “Well,” she said, “you’re as fat and as handsome as ever, so the Army must have treated you right!”

            After settling back home, Charlie took a job building mobile homes for a local company.  Sometimes he would talk with obvious pride about how quickly and efficiently he could put together six or eight trailers in one day.  But his often weary and haggard expression reflected the long and tedious demands of his work.

            No matter how fatigued Charlie was, he never failed to pick up Ruth for their weekend dates.  The two of them often reminded me of Andy and Helen from the “Andy Griffith Show.”  He and Ruth would sit in the living room and watch television as they tried vainly to make hand-holding appear a natural thing to do.

            After gobbling the hot balls and licorice that Ruth always brought us, my sister and I spent most of the evening ogling the two of them.  Ruth was beautiful in my eyes.  Tall, with a Lauren Bacall voice, she carried herself with an appearance of pride and dignity that was striking.  She was what Charlie’s mother called “a down-home girl” because she didn’t act too “cute” to get up and help clear the table after dinner or to talk with patience and concern to Junior, Charlie’s mentally challenged brother.  Ruth was admired by the whole family, but it was obvious Charlie adored her.

            I don’t know if Charlie and Ruth broke up because she left town or if she left town because they broke up.  Nevertheless, after eight years the relationship ended.  Its end became much like an Indian summer’s desperate endeavor to cling yet still to a time not its own.