CHRISTMAS GHOSTS

He sat on the toilet seat and farted. A contented grin crept over his gnarled features , displacing a silvery, crusty moustache and supplanted with yellowing teeth. He raised his left buttock slightly, sniffed the air and blamed the vegetables. “ Goddam brussel sprouts! “, he chuckled, “ never was as good as corn! “. I reminded him for the nth time to close the bathroom door. As always, the grin was replaced with a scowl and the muttered words, “ mother fucker! “ squeezed through those broken piano keys. Without opening his eyes, he deftly nudged the door with a flick of his right leg and it slammed shut. The kids giggled, stealing mischievous glances at each other and I frowned. Sarah and Jason were up in Edinburgh from London and dad was over from America. His first visit in over five years and , I told myself, his last.
“ I never had none of this prissy  stuff out on the road, “ he complained,
“ mat’r o’ fact, we just shit where we sat! “. This time it was followed by a derisory snort. The kids burst out laughing. “ Gran’pa’s using the bad words again! “, my daughter said mockingly, whilst Jason mouthed the word “shit “, placed his hands on his hips and tutted. I bit my lip and pretended to be shocked but the kids sensed my vindication and we all laughed. The toilet flushed and moments later dad emerged from the hall, patting his bottom. Sensing victory, he followed up for the spoils.
“ Did I ever tell you kids ‘bout the time I was in New Mexico? “, he boomed in his heavy Texan drawl. They both shook their heads with enthusiasm.
“ We..ll, lemme see.., “.  He paused thoughtfully. “ Must a’ bin ‘bout ’68, coz I remember I’d only had ma’ Harley a few months. “.  “ ,.. the one in the photo Gran’pa? “, Jason enquired. “ Hell yes boy!  “, dad roared gleefully, raising his eyebrows. “ ,… an’ me in the back of the Chevvy!! “ He took a deep breath and continued. “ Anyways, damn thing broke down and we hitched a lift to El Paso. The boys went on ahead. “. Dad was referring to his “chapter”,  now a group of ageing “Angels”. At nearly 53 years old, he was still going on 20.
“ Met your mother there. “, he reminded me.  “ Purrtiest old lady I ever saw! “. He paused and his eyes moistened. “ Best and the worst thing that ever happ…, “, his voice trailed off. Mum was an illegal immigrant, waiting tables and for an American to seal her citizenship. Dad provided that and for 10 years they lived on the road, traveling coast to coast until one day she was gone. It broke his heart but in a macho lifestyle, he never let it show. Shortly after, dad ended his nomadic career and we settled in Texas. I was nine years old.
Sarah broke the silence, eager to be amused and seeming to ignore his melancholy.  She coaxed him with an audible pout so reminiscent of her mother. “ Gran’pa, tell us some more, pleeeasee! “.  “ Ok sweetie. “. His bottom lip rose over his whiskers. Then a smile returned to his face. He continued, “ Anyways, we got to El Paso and the gas station mechanic told me it needed a fuel pump. Said he‘d order it and have the bike fixed up in two days. So-o, me an’ the boys just had ourselves a good time!!  Drinkin’, ‘n’ womanisin’ an’ raising HELL!!! “. I shot him a cursory glance and scolded, “ Dad, don’t  speak like that  in front of the children!  “. I cast my mind back to my childhood. Dad brought me up with the help of his two sisters, one of whom I was decanted to every other weekend, whilst he went‘ on the road’.
At seventeen I went to college in Florida for five years, studied and worked to pay for my education. Then I went to London on a research scholarship. I met Anne and married within a year. We settled in Edinburgh where she accepted her first journalistic post.
“ Daaad !! “, Sarah countered, glowering at me, “ stop being such a prude!  “. Jason’s mouth fell open in surprise and then he backed her up. “ Lighten up man, be cool! “, he said matter-of- factly. There I was, being disempowered by two siblings under ten and a recycled teenager! Another silence followed.
Anne was living in London working for a major daily. We’d been separated for two years. It was Christmas and the kids were up in Scotland for the week. Dad was a fortnight into a month’s vacation and suddenly I wished they were all gone.
“ Goddam, son! “, my father exploded, “ your just like your mother! “. His words hit me like a sledgehammer. I had lost my mother because he had refused to put down roots. They had constantly argued about this and mum would remind him she was sick of traveling, sick of living on the road and sick of being denied, “ The American Dream “. She had left her family in poverty in Mexico and had sent little money because she had none. Then things got worse.
Sarah burst into tears, stood up and stormed out of the room. In her wake, I heard her call me a  “ Bully “ and why couldn’t I, “ leave Gran’pa alone! “. Jack followed but said nothing. Dad just sat there. I just sat there. Then he got up to leave. “ I’m gonna talk some to the kids. “, he said quietly and nodded. Within ten minutes I could hear them  all laughing in unison. Dad spinning some stories and the kids loving it.
It was Christmas. A time of getogethers, party hats, presents and peace to all men. It felt just like those xmas’s spent in Texas, dad in California or Florida, me with my two aunts. Mum with her new life, yet never a call or card. I missed her but reminded myself that this must never happen to our kids.
“ Right you guys!  “, I hollered up the stairs. “ Trifle or xmas pudding served in ten minutes! “. I heard dad say, in that lazy southern drawl, “ Last one down’s a turkey! “.