The Blatz Nativity

Six kids left unsupervised got into a lot of trouble. Except Sharon, Sharon NEVER broke the rules. She was the good kid. I always say that Sharon was like Marilyn on the Munsters, she didn’t fit in, not with all of us trouble makers. She never did ANYTHING wrong. She wasn’t like the rest of us.

We were country kids and we were known for our parties. This started with Mike and John. They had jobs, which was their excuse for not going camping. Then they would throw parties. We would come home and the neighbors would tattle on them.

One year, after Sharon and John had both gotten married and left home, Michael had the end all, be all party at the Sermon house. My parents and the ‘three little kids’ went camping for two weeks. We drove our pickup truck up through the U.P., through Wisconsin to see family in Minnesota. It was a great trip and I have wonderful memories of that time. However, that camping trip was punctuated by what we came home to. We pulled into the yard, very tired and ready to get unpacked. There was ‘debris’ all over the yard. Bottles and cans were everywhere. The grass had been flattened by car tires. We had a habit of having keggers in the back. Folks would drive their cars out back and blare their radios. Michael greeted us at the back door. He was chattering on about how tired we must be and how HUNGRY we must be. Wouldn’t we like to head over to the Texan for a bit to eat. Dad was giving him the parental skunk eye. Then Michael added he needed a few minutes to tidy up the place. Dad shot a look to my mother and then told the three of us to “Stay here!” He stomped into the house.

We heard loud voices, then yelling and then we heard slamming doors. My mother was muttering something about Michael being a fool and “I don’t know WHAT your father is going to do!” At that, Mark, David & I shot into the house. Michael was somewhat of a hero to us. He was older, a drama major and VERY popular in school. But he drove my father to the edge and the only times I ever truly saw my father angry was usually AT Michael. We felt if we could plead his case to our father, he would let Michael live.

Coming up the back entrance step we saw many more empty bottles but what we saw in the kitchen has gone down in family history. There were liquor bottles EVERYWHERE! It looked like a bar. Empty ones, half empty ones, broken ones, there was even the game “Passout” spread out across the table. Cigarette butts were in bottles, in the sink, on the counter and smashed out on the floor. My parents didn’t smoke or drink. We were Baptist; there were rules about that sort of thing. We didn’t see dad or Michael. The boys went upstairs to see their room. My room was downstairs. I had a double bed that Sharon and I used to share. I was in this aquarium phase which my father had indulged me in. I had about eight tanks set up in my room with a variety of tropical fish.

The first thing I noticed was my door was coming off the hinges. Then I noticed that my bed had collapsed. It used to do that when Sharon and I shared the bed. I can’t tell you how many times we had to get up in the middle of the night and put the slats back under the bed and align the mattress back on top. Sometimes we were just too tired and just slept on the slant. I hated that bed. However, I hadn’t been home so WHO had been in my bed!?? There were bottles on my floor as well. The worse thing was every single one of my fish tanks was destroyed.  The heaters had been cranked to high and literally boiled my fish. Some of them had jumped out of the boiling water to escape the heat and were stuck to my walls. There were cigarette butts and empty bottles floating in the water. I was mortified.

Mark and David came running down the stairs. Dad had ordered them out and I wasn’t allowed up. I never saw the condition of their rooms but I heard conflicting stories from my two older brothers over the years. Evidently the door was completely torn off my parent’s room and my dad found a used condom in their bed. We also heard later that Michael had a band out in the backyard and things got so rowdy that the cops were called. That was the first time Michael got kicked out of the house. The big takeaway for Mark, David and I that day, wasn’t not ever to have big parties when the parents were gone; it was clean up immediately AFTER your parties, no matter what.

Over the years, Mark, David and I were also known for our keggers out back. No matter how late it was or how stumbling over drunk we were, the three of us cleaned the house spotless before bed.  The year my grandmother died, my parents took Mark and David to Alabama to collect her things. I couldn’t go because I had been sick so I had too many absences at school to take time off, or so I told my parents. I didn’t want to go. I wanted the house to myself. They took off with the boys over Christmas break and weren’t coming back until a few days after school started up again. The tree was still up and all our Christmas decorations. I was used to having outside parties with just a few people inside. This was to be my first inside party. I was excited.

I had about 30 to 40 people over. I made it B.Y.O.B and had the smokers smoke outside, putting their butts out in a coffee can. I was being oh so careful. I felt very grown up and very clever.  Just like I had done over the years, even though they were in Alabama, I cleaned the house before I went to bed. The next day, I cleaned it again, dusting, vacuuming, the whole nine yards. 

Eventually the folks came home. I greeted them at the door with a big ole smile and smugly quoted Michael, “I bet you’re tired and hungry. Why don’t you head over to the Texan for a bit to eat? That will give me a few minutes to tidy up the place.” My dad shot me a look that told me he failed to see the humor in that but I did see both my parents scanning the spotless room.  Mark and David were helping dad bring in the bags and my mom was still standing near the entrance to the living room. I was standing near an old desk, near the front door, that had belonged to my grandmother. On top of this desk was my mother’s prized nativity set from Bronner’s Christmas Wonderland in Frankenmuth. My dad had built her a stable to put the pieces in. He had taken shredded wheat and placed it about the stable to represent hay, even though they didn’t have hay balers in Biblical times. Each piece was about six inches tall. The whole set cost my parents over $200.00. As my mother was recounting their trip, I happened to glance down at the nativity scene. What I saw chilled my blood. 

My heart literally stopped beating. The entire 19 years of my wasted life, flashed before my eyes. It was horrific! On top of the head of each wiseman, of each shepherd, of Joseph, Mary and even the baby Jesus was a carefully balanced beer cap! I had to tear my gaze away to be sure my mom hadn’t seen it. She was still talking and finally headed over to the stack of mail and newspapers on the coffee table.

I quickly snatched off about three beer caps and put them into my pocket before she looked up. The boys and my dad came in with another load. I calmly stood there chatting with them. I couldn’t leave my post. Once they left for another load, I had to wait until my mom walked into the kitchen. I snatched off another three or four more beer caps. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I was sweating now. I had to get them all before someone, anyone noticed. If one of the boys noticed, they would have squealed in delight and I would be found out. If mom noticed, I could be thrown out just like Michael. IF dad noticed, he wouldn’t have said anything to my mom but he would have blackmailed me with it later, making me listen to Ray Stevens’ songs or some other horrid payback. Every time the room was clear, I shot over to the nativity to snatch a beer cap until they were all gone. Once they were all gone, I had a pocketful of beer caps and a very guilty conscious.