My family has some interesting Christmas traditions. There's the one that involves me putting  the animals in the nativity scene into compromising positions. There's the one where at least every other year my dad will go on a rant about how we should put stars and not crosses up as Christmas decorations because it's wrong to say, "Happy Birthday, here's how you are going to die." There even seems to be the one where family dogs end up in costumes during the holidays.

Bulleit wasn't very happy to be Santa that year
Bulleit wasn't very happy to be Santa that year
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But this isn't about any of those traditions. This is about the tradition of last minute Christmas shopping. You see, when I was a kid, my dad and I had a tradition. Some would call it procrastination. Some would call it being irresponsible. We called it Christmas Shopping. While some people will start their shopping months in advance, we weren't 'some people.' We would go out on Christmas Eve and get the gifts for the entire rest of the family. The way my dad always explained was like this: Women are gatherers and men are hunters. While mom may see something in August that's a perfect gift and buy it and hold it until December, we weren't evolved that way though. We function best when it's do or die and we have to 'hunt' down those perfect gifts with out any fall back plan.

So, for most of my childhood that's how the Christmas shopping went down. Dad and I against the clock. The Christmas Eve Hunt! Now, we went on this expedition long before I had memories of it and that's where today's story takes place. This would have been Christmas Eve 1985. Imagine if you will, little baby Drew, slightly over 1 year old.

Take that adorable kid on the right and make him about 3 years younger
Take that adorable kid on the right and make him about 3 years younger
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Now, for this particular Christmas Eve Hunt, Dad decided to do the shopping on Mass Street in Lawrence Kansas. It's a few blocks of different local and chain store, bars, and coffee shops. Basically, it was a place that you knew that you'd be able to find a unique gift for everyone on the list. Now, as I mentioned, I was just slightly over 1 year old. I wasn't walking around and doing the gift shopping, I was basically just along for the ride. In fact, Dad was carrying me in one of those strapped to your chest baby carriers kinda like Alan wears in 'The Hangover.'  In fact, being that it was my father in the 80's, if you want to imagine that character, but in overalls, that's probably a good visual for this story.Also, envision one of the most adorably cute kids you've ever laid eyes on.

Imagine that kid in the cowboy hat, only 4 years younger
Imagine that kid in the cowboy hat, only 4 years younger
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Now the way this story has been passed down over the years, little baby me was quite the ladies man. Apparently, as dad walked down the street doing his shopping, baby Drew was smiling at all the ladies, waving, and generally making everyone who saw us smile at my dad. Mom's pretty lucky he's a faithful man, cause with baby Drew wingmanning, Dad probably could have had his pick of the Mass Street shopping moms.  It was right at the peak of cuteness that suddenly things went downhill. It was then that suddenly little baby Drew decided to stop being nice, and start being real.

Now, I don't personally remember this story, but here's the legend passed down from Dad to me. As he's walking, getting smiled at, hunting the perfect gifts, little baby me suddenly decided that it was time to poop. This wasn't just your normal "oh, did the baby make a stinky in his diaper" type poop though. The way dad describes it, it was a flood of brown liquid that no diaper was ever designed to hold. Basically, imagine that this elevator was the diaper and that liquid was the thing you would never ever want to come into contact with.

Suddenly, Dad's entire life changed. He was no longer the man with the cutest baby in the world flirting with all the women. He was now the man covered in a river of liquid brown who was at least 8 blocks away from his truck. Now he was the man walking back through the crowds who once smiled and adored him but now feared and ran from him.

I won't go on with the details of the walk, or the changing of the diaper. I won't even go into how the clothes probably had to all be burned or at least visited by an exhorsist to get rid of the poop demons. But now you know the story. One that's been passed down for years. This Christmas memory: The time I pooped on my dad.

 

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