For me, there is more tradition wrapped up in New Year’s than any other holiday--even Christmas. Sure, I have childhood memories of frosting sugar cookies and putting ornaments on the tree, but, somehow, the stuff we did at New Year’s has escaped the tarnish that comes with looking at the past through adult eyes. There were so many cool things that rang in the new year. Long ago, my dad, police officer by profession but Wild West gunsmith in his heart, crafted a breadbox-sized brass cannon that just begged to be shot off at midnight. He would position it in the middle of the deserted street and do all the patch and powder preparations while holding a match between in his teeth (perhaps this is where my fascination with things macho started), aim it away from the crowd (well, me, my brothers, and whatever friends were spending the night), and…BOOM!!!!! It was so loud
and visceral that it simultaneously scared the stuffing out of me and made me feel a little more alive (see: “fascination with things macho” above). We stayed up late, watched the ball drop, drank a ton of normally-forbidden ginger ale, and got up early to watch the Rose Parade through bleary eyes. All things considered, a banner twenty-four hours. Nick chose to read “Happy New Year” from Disney’s My Very First Winnie The Pooh Growing Up Stories, which I wouldn’t have done because it’s not January. But daddies build cannons and read recklessly…they are wild men.http://www.librarything.com/work/468501
http://www.paperbackswap.com/Kathleen-W-Zoehfeld/author/
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