It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was dark in any case, as nights often are. My parents had just sat down to dinner when the doorbell rang. My dad got up to see who it could be and, upon opening the door, came face-to-face with a bedraggled father with his beaming 5-year old son.
“Where did you get the Bumble?” asked the father, his voice shaky with exasperation.
My dad takes great pride in his holiday display. He’s been building it, bit by bit, for as long as I can remember: icicle lights, giant tree balls, light-up geese, bears, penguins, and of course, the centerpiece, the Abominable Snow Monster of the North, from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. You know, “Bumbles bounce!”
While our house has never required the city of Salt Lake to switch to emergency nuclear power, as did Clark Griswold’s, it is still the brightest house in the neighborhood by a long shot. But like Clark Griswold, every year on Thanksgiving night, there is a formal lighting ceremony heralded by drumroll. It is nothing short of magnificent.
“My son has made me drive past here every night for a week asking about the Bumble.”
The Old Man could not have been prouder that his work had attracted a groupie, albeit a 5-year old who could just pronounce “Bumble.” He gave the boy’s father the secret origins of the Bumble, and they went on their way into the winter’s night.
Nearly a year later, at Halloween, the parents of a 4-year old trick-or-treater made comment about my dad’s wondrous holiday display. He also really enjoyed watching the wonders of the lights, including, but not limited to, the Bumble. A few more years, and my dad will have cornered the 4-5 year old demographic with his holiday display. We can only hope that fame will not go to his head.