A short little story , not political or depressing

[blues90]

First I have to build a few real characters .

There is my father Harold , the perfectionist carpenter , only his way is
the right way .

His older sister Tuty , a stearn , plump never smiled in her life , over
hair styled sour lady .

Her husband know as Uncle George , always well groomed , always with the
suit and tie , quiet with always a hit of held back humor seen on his face .

As my aunt and uncle they owned a three story flat in Brookfield ILL .
Complete with the
dark over stocked basement of items never remembered and always had a use
some day . Throw nothing out . This was the set and setting .

Their two sons and one daughter , Wayne , a spin off in dress and posture
of Uncle George and Ronny , same attire however I was always told he was
dropped as a child and this defined the reason he was slow where he could
not put a child's puzzle together . They insist on always explaining these
things , I don't know if I ever asked . There was also a middle child Louis
, a close copy of her mother Tuty with a smile yet not so polished .

Ronny shared the first floor , Wane with his wife Delores lived on the
second floor and Louis does not matter she and her husband thin and frail
Pete lived somewhere else .

One day back in 1963 George and Wayne decided to bring home a pool table ,
after great effort ( so the story goes ) they managed to get the table
through the narrow doors and down the narrow hall and down the steps to the
basement . However this was not quite the normal effort one would require ,
no , they found it some how necessary to break the pool table in half and
then force it back together and level it with what odds and ends were to be
found .

Driving the 30 miles from a sparse and sorry ex farmland turned
neighborhood called Sunset Hills a few miles away from a small town
consisting of a auto dealer /bicycle shop and the school district 54 school
bus storage yard was Schaumburg .

My family consisting of parents and a brother and two sisters and me drove
to have a night of visit and fun while the men , me included were to play a
few games of pool , I was 14 . My cousins were in their 30's and not because
there was a great difference between my fathers age and Tuty .

We went down the stairs to a lit room and a keg of beer and a juke box ,
somehow George and Wayne managed to capture and fashion the look and
feel of a neighborhood bar pool hall and fit it into a very un-likely
setting , it was to me quite amazing , even the lighting was perfect .

Ah but for the sorry state of the efforts of the pool table under the
perfectionist inspection of my fathers eyes .

It did turn out a grand old evening , a quick smooth of the green felt
ridge over the slate top crack , the balls were free to roll with an aim ,
the beer brought off the ties and loosened the limbs , and a slight red tint
came across the faces of distictly different minds .

The music played , the lights never dimmed , and for that evening all the
troubles went away , all the differences no longer mattered .

[mdmc]

1. When you sit and reflect on moments like the one decribed

it is called meditation.

Thanks for sharing the story

[ayeshahaqqiqa]

2. thanks for sharing this story n/t

[annabanana]

3. what a clear picture you've painted..

of the setting and the evening... thank you