|A Red Ryder BB gun with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time|
The fact that this is about childhood and Christmas in the 1940's took my father right back to his own roots, growing up in a small house in the "East End" of Hamilton, Ontario, the son of a steel worker in a very working class neighbourhood. His childhood home resembled the one in this holiday classic (even I still remember the push button lights and the wringer washer in what was still my Grandma's house).
|Over the years I got to be quite a connoisseur of soap.|
|Fra-gee-lay, must be Italian...|
|A Christmas Story- the house|
Ralphie: Oooh fuuudge!
Ralphie as Adult: [narrating] Only I didn't say "Fudge." I said THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words, the "F-dash-dash-dash" word!
Mr. Parker: [stunned] *What* did you say?
Ralphie: Uh, um...
Mr. Parker: That's... what I thought you said. Get in the car. Go on!
Ralphie as Adult: [narrating] It was all over - I was dead. What would it be? The guillotine? Hanging? The chair? The rack? The Chinese water torture? Hmmph. Mere child's play compared to what surely awaited me.
|He looks like a deranged Easter Bunny!|
[he walks down a few stairs and falls the rest of the way down]
Mr. Parker: Damn skates!
Mr. Parker: Oh, for cripes sake, open up the damper will ya? Who the hell turned it all the way down? AGAIN! Oh, blast it!
Ralphie as Adult: [narrating] In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.
|NOW it was serious. A double-dog-dare!|