Newspaper Page Text
PAGE 11A
Send a letter to the editor to P.O. Box 1600, Dawsonville, GA 30534; fax (706) 265-3276; or email to editor@dawsonnews.com.
DawsonOpinion
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 19,2018
This is a page of opinion — ours, yours and
others. Signed columns and cartoons are the
opinions of the writers and artists, and they
may not reflect our views.
A visit to Lego
heaven with my
great-grandson
I’m not sure I will ever qualify for the
heaven owned and operated by God, but I
have been to the Lego store in
Rockefeller Center in New York. That
was about as heavenly an experience as
this sinner could ever hope for.
Cameron Charles Yarbrough, who
gives special meaning to the word
“great” as in
great-grandson,
is a Lego fanat
ic. You name it
and he has built
it. Maybe
twice. For rea
sons perhaps
known only to
him, he recent
ly constructed a Lego version of the
Sphinx. Just what every family needs —
a Lego Sphinx.
Cameron recently turned 10 years old
and I figured the best way to reward him
for the joy and happiness he has brought
to my life was to take him to New York
to visit the epicenter of the Lego world.
The trip would include his first airplane
ride and his first excursion outside of the
South, unless you count his major tete-a-
tete in Washington last summer with
Georgia’s senior senator, Johnny Isakson.
(The lad does get around. When I was his
age, I was still learning to tie my shoes.)
I contacted the Lego public relations
people to see if it might be possible for
someone on staff to at least acknowledge
his presence in the store, nothing more.
After all, we are talking about a very
busy shopping day in New York during
the Christmas season. They do have other
things to do.
My contact with them was the first step
in what was to become a trip of a lifetime
for the little boy and his great-grandpa.
Not only would they welcome Cameron,
the store manager would be there to greet
him. A table would be set up for him to
build as many Christmas ornaments out
of Legos as he could in 30 minutes. For
each one he finished, the company would
donate three toys to children in need, this
as a part of their worldwide
#BuildToGive program, which has a goal
of giving 500,000 children in need the
chance to play this holiday season.
They were true to their word. Cameron
Charles Yarbrough knocked out 15 orna
ments in the prescribed time while hun
dreds of people waiting in line to get into
the store looked on through the window.
He was oblivious to the crowds. To his
credit and the credit of those in charge of
raising him, Cameron’s biggest takeaway
from his trip to the Lego store in New
York is that he had helped make
Christmas better for 45 children in need.
You’ve got to love that.
Just to be on the safe side, Cameron
and I invited his grandfather and his
father, (who also double as my son and
grandson) along for the trip. It was in our
own self-interest. One was assigned to
keep him safe in the hustle and bustle of
New York. The other was there to keep
me from falling on my tush. I have been
to New York innumerable times and even
had an office there for several years, but
that was before my septic shock episode
and the resultant tottering around with a
cane.
This was as close to a perfect trip as
one could dream of and I doubt Cameron
Charles Yarbrough will ever forget that
day. That was what it was all about —
making memories. For both of us.
I am a couple of generations removed
from him, but I hope he will look at his
great-grandfather as someone to emulate
(at least the good parts) and that some
thing I said or did will inspire him to
achieve greatness long after I am gone.
I thank the good folks at Lego’s
Rockefeller Center store, including gen
eral manager Chad Ketterling, who gave
us more time than I suspect he had to
spare on a very busy Saturday morning
as well as the professionals at San
Francisco-based FlashPoint Public
Relations, especially Vice President
Karen Nolan, who appreciated the signif
icance of this trip and who made it hap
pen and Delta Airlines for getting us up
and back on time and with a minimum of
hassle.
I thank Cameron Charles Yarbrough for
not being overwhelmed with what could
have been an overwhelming experience
and who did his part to help Lego spread
Christmas joy to children in need. They
made a great team.
And, finally, I thank you for letting me
share this special day with you. This may
be as close to heaven as I ever get, and I
wanted you there with me.
You can reach Dick Yarbrough atdick@dickyar-
brough.com; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, GA
31139; online atdickyarbrough.com or on
Facebook at wvwv.facebook.com/dickyarb.
DICKYARBROUGH
Columnist
The Christmas bedroom slippers
By some small grace of
frivolity, Mama has always
believed Christmas gifts
should not be practical.
It was the one time of year
when one could ask for
something a bit expensive
and not feel bad for doing
so.
Of course, she would
often remind me, this did not
mean I was going to get
everything on my list, which
included $100 Guess jeans,
Members Only jackets and
20 cassette tapes, mostly
featuring Madonna.
“I am not buying you any
thing Madonna,” she would
say, “Christmas or not.”
Outside of the Material
Girl, Mama would try to get
me the rest.
“You spoiling her,”
Granny would protest.
“When I was growing up,
we got an orange. That’s
what we got. Citrus. One a
piece. You getting her britch
es that cost more than we
spent on groceries in two
months. Maybe three.”
Mama would ignore her,
and gently state that times
were different now and
Christmas was supposed to
be special.
My uncle, always looking
for a way to play a prank on
me, decided one year to give
me the most practical gift of
all: he wrapped a 24-roll
pack of toilet paper, putting
the biggest bow he could
find on the package as he sat
it under the tree.
“You will use this every
day,” he promised.
“I will?” I asked, eyeing
the big package.
“Oh, you will. And it will
be something that you will
be in a fix if you are ever
without it.”
He laughed to the point of
SUDIE CROUCH
Columnist
soundlessness when he saw
my reaction as I peeled the
paper back.
“You got me toilet paper!”
I cried.
“It’s 2-ply and cush
ioned!” was his response.
“That’s a great gift,”
Granny declared. “Wish I
had thought of it!”
Mama shook her head.
“Next year, give him a four
pack of Dial and see how he
likes it,” she suggested.
I did.
Problem was, he liked it.
While everyone else in our
house was thrilled with
packages of socks, toilet
paper and practical, every
day items presented in shiny
paper and wrapped with a
bow, Mama held fast to her
belief that Christmas should
be reserved for special gifts.
“Christmas is about Jesus,
not about getting some ridic
ulously overpriced perfume,”
Granny chastised one day.
“I know it is about Jesus,
Mama,” my own mother
said. “But even the wise men
brought the baby frankin
cense and myrrh; not exactly
practical gifts and quite pric
ey perfumes, if you ask me.”
Granny grunted. “You got
a smart answer for every
thing, don’t you?”
Mama did.
And Mama believed in
gifts that hailed Chanel,
Lauder and Lancome — and
didn’t bat an eye when the
sales person gave her the
total.
“Mama, wouldn’t you like
some poof?” she asked
Granny one day. “It would
be nice for you to have a
pretty bottle sitting on your
dresser.”
“Jean, I work in a sewing
plant. What am I gonna do
with some high falutin’ bot
tle of poof sitting around
gathering dust? I ain’t gonna
wear it.”
“You could wear it on
Sundays.”
Granny frowned. “I ain’t
gonna let you spend a lot of
money on something I will
wear one day a week. That’s
foolishness. It will sour
before I use it all.”
“No, it won’t,” Mama pro
tested.
“It will, too. Don’t you get
me any poof.”
“Then what do you want?”
Mama asked.
“What ya mean?” Granny
wasn’t used to someone ask
ing her what she wanted.
She was used to being given
something and told to appre
ciate it because that was all
she was going to get.
“What do you want for
Christmas, Mama? I will get
you whatever you want.”
Granny thought about this
for a long time. She needed
a new stove but wouldn’t
dare ask anyone else to get it
for her.
She wanted a new fridge,
but the old one was fine; she
was old enough, she would
say, for her wants not to hurt
her.
After a day or two of
ruminating over what would
be an acceptable gift, she
approached my Mama with
her request.
“I want some bedroom
slippers,” she said.
“Bedroom slippers?”
“Yep, bedroom slippers. I
want the booty kind, so my
feet will be warm all over,
and I’d like them to be a
pretty color. I ain’t never
seen a red one but if they do,
that’s what I’d like. If not,
don’t get me no pink. I’d
rather have blue.”
“Ok,” Mama replied.
“You got all that?” Granny
asked unsure.
Mama nodded. “Yes,
booty bedroom slippers,
preferably red. If not, blue;
no pink.”
“Good.”
“But Mama, why bedroom
slippers?”
Granny sighed. “It’s the
one thing I need and want,
that I always forget to get for
myself. And if I do, I feel bad
spending too much on them.
So, if you want to get me
something all fancy, get me
some fancy bedroom slip
pers.”
It was a practical gift,
which Granny liked, but she
felt like at Mama’s request,
she could get the booty kind.
And for every year, until
2015, we got the old gal bed
room slippers.
I asked Mama the other day
what she wanted for
Christmas.
“Any makeup? Lancome?
Some Chanel Mademoiselle?”
“You know what I really
want?”
“What?”
“Bedroom slippers,” she
said. “The booty kind.”
And bedroom slippers she’s
getting.
Sudie Crouch is an award win
ning humor columnist and
author of the recently e-pub-
lished novel, "The Dahlman
Files: A Tony Dahlman
Paranormal Mystery."
"No matter how hectic the holidays,
there's still time to make a difference."