I mentioned last week how it is with family on the holidays and so it was this past week as I celebrated Thanksgiving in Branson. Had all 4 of my kids with me. Just like any Oklahoman would do. We attended some musical performances of course, such as the Christmas Programs out at Silver Dollar City and some other shows. Thanksgiving Day we sailed on the Branson Belle. It was on the day of Thanksgiving and 10 of us got to sit together and enjoy a great Thanksgiving feast. They had a great show on the stage for us and although it was cold outside, it was fun and cozy inside the Belle.

We made the long drive home to Allen on Sunday afternoon. Son Ron had to run back to his job in California while Granddaughter Meegan had to drive (alone) all the way back to Norman and her beloved OU. Daughter Traci had to make the long haul back up to St. Louis, Missouri with her family. Steve loaded up his wife Courtney, daughters Francesca and Charlotte, for their drive back to Tulsa. Les, Tim, Pat and I drove back together and were happy to drive into Sunshine before we got home.

I know for two or three of my detractor type “friends” it’s a disappointment to learn I suffered no flats, no engine trouble or other outlandish acts of happenstance on these holidays. You see, I made the mistake of writing about my Mom and Dad’s Bullard Family Christmas snafu on December 25, 1943, when we got caught in a bad sleet storm down at Goat Ridge while visiting my Bullard grandparents. That stormy Christmas night ended up finding my whole family stranded on US-69 near Stringtown out of gas, right by a large well illuminated sign warning passersby that hitchhikers might be escaping Nazi prisoners of war. It was very cold, and my two little sisters, Sue and Kay, were scared and cried incessantly during the long three hours we sat there freezing in the old car as Dad tried to flag down help. Sue was openly predicting our imminent death at the hands of escaped Nazis.

Yes, I am speaking of that time Mom had pulled the choke out on our old reliable 1935 Ford so she could have a place to hang her purse. Before the car had coughed and wheezed its last Mom and Dad had spoken in such a manner to each other as to remove any Christmas Spirit that we had started with that night. Dad had reminded Mom several times of her questionable IQ on the trip home (he kept thinking we would make it home) and that he couldn’t buy any gas. It was, after all, Christmas day night! And it was all her fault. Actually, I thought quietly to myself, it was. Dad opined that Franklin D Roosevelt himself couldn’t buy any gas tonight so there was a “fat” chance of us getting any. Sue was right as Sue turned up the wailing. Dad went on how we were burning “drip” gas because we had no stamps. Gerald quipped with conviction, “We’re goanna die here.”

Well, we didn’t. Dr. Wylie, an MD out of Coalgate, passed by and rescued us. He was out making house calls that Christmas night, as those old doctors were apt to do. The good doctor had an “X” stamp on the windshield of his 1941 Ford. He produced a heavy chain and pulled us all the way to the 24 hour 7 days a week station on Main St. in Coalgate. He showed the attendant his X stamp and said, “fill er up” while pointing at our lifeless 35 Ford.

We got home to Centrahoma eventually and Dad was in such a good spirit he actually sang a little Christmas song as he carried his two now happy daughters to their beds. Four-year-old Sue was even happy. Mom was still trying to dodge the blame—something she failed at. Me? Well, I was just happy to be away from all those imprisoned German Prisoners of war. I had always viewed them suspiciously as they filled potholes on HW-3 in front of our grocery store. And I had a great Christmas—but not that year.

Hope your time of Christmas in 2022 is great too. After all, we have it pretty good now. Enjoy the season and be sure and go to church on Sunday. It’s Hanging Of The Green time at FBC.

Wayne Bullard, DPh

Cwaynebullard@gmail.com