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If I Granted Three Wishes Essay

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If I were granted three wishes what would they be?
If somebody on the street asked me what would my three wishes be, Despite the fact it is not easy, I would probably choose the following three.

First I would wish to have a gigantic polar bear as my pet.
I would love him, I would walk out with him every day or I could just sit on him like a knight on his horse and we would go on the journey. It might be hard to learn him not to eat people, but I am sure he will get used to me as he gets used other people.

Secondly, I would like to master copy-cat.
That means that I clone my self three times. it would save me a lot of time and effort. For example I can go out with my friends while my copy number 1. does all the homeworks for me. And copy number 2. can do all the house work instead of me. In every situation I would find a practical solution for this super power.

For my third and final wish I would like to have happy and comfortable life. I would like to live in suitable family house located in hills where I could live with my pretty wife and two loving children. I would appreciate job that I would like doing, but which would also give me a lot of enjoyment and time for my hobbies and my family.

To sum up I would live in a perfect family house with my happy family. On Saturdays we would go with my family(bear included) to nature, and on Sundays me and my clones would take care of all my family needs. I am waiting for all of it to become real.

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I thought you might enjoy a Christmas Memory

PHILADELPHIA, THE EARLY YEARS

A CHARLTON CHRISTMAS

CHAPTER NINE

Descending on my home in nineteen forty four, the Charlton Christmas boasted

unusual traditions, due to the character of my Father. Dad believed in a big bang theory

when it came to stretching a dollar. If he ever walked through another life style, it had

existed years before I was born. Suspicions ran rampant that in his early years, Dad

had been a big spender, judging from the quality of antique furniture that made its home

with us.

We lived in a two story cottage in Upper Darby, a northern neighborhood in the

city of liberty, Philadelphia. A comfortable home with a pretty yard honed from my

Mother and Father’s passion for gardening when they were young. Beds of rose bushes

lined the front walkway to our home. I remember Dad stopping on the sidewalk each

morning on his way to work, picking a new rose and placing it into his suit lapel. In early

spring, roses stood proudly by the dozens each morning waiting for the master to choose

one of them.

I took spent roses, placed them in a glass jar, added a little water and pounded

rose petals with a stick, making perfume for my Mother. After creating a grueling mess

of water and broken rose petals, I proudly gave them to her and waited for her to use the

perfume that I had made with love, behind her ears. A proud moment arrived when she

would tell me how wonderful the rose water smelled.

On the east side of our home, Dad had constructed cold frames out of lumber and

old windows he had collected. It gave seedlings an early start in the spring, protecting

them from cold Philadelphia mornings in March until mid April. Then I helped with the

planting of the tiny plants when spring arrived in our neighborhood.

A full basement held the furnace and coal chute on it’s left side by our driveway.

The basement, heated by our boiler in Philadelphia winters, became a play area for me

after school and on weekends. Dad had turned part of the lower level into a recreational

room by painting the walls sky blue and the half windows above ground black, to keep

the lights inside from getting out at night during black out exercises in Philadelphia

during World War Two.

My Father’s relationship with the coal fired house heater became tenuous at best.

Being cranky with age, the furnace responded to my father‘s banging on it and chastising

it by ignoring every word Dad yelled at it. By winter mornings the house remained

freezing to a young boy whose ears heard every blue word my Father could invent,

yelling at an inanimate heater.

I loved the coal chute descending from the driveway on the first floor to the

basement. Puffs of coal dust tumbled into the air surrounding my slide down to the pile of

coal slumped beside the furnace. Mother shook her head at me, handing a bar of lava

soap for me to clean up with in the mop sink located across from the room. I wasn’t

allowed back upstairs into the house until I stripped to my underwear, wrapping my

clothes up and placing them in the mop sink.

During the war, air raid practice drills were common occurrences in Philadelphia.

Our entire family gathered in our basement, listening to the radio, playing cards or

reading, whiling time away until we heard the all clear siren, cutting through the silence

in a city paused for the air raid practice. It was one more experience telling my mind, the

war was a constant reminder of a strong country united in one simple pursuit, the ultimate

defeat of our world enemies.

On weekends when Dad had spare time, we retreated to our basement, making

lead soldiers for my standing army. Using scraps of lead, Dad melted them in a small

electric pot, making sure the lead was hot enough to pour into the two-sided soldier

molds. When he unfolded the mold covers and exposed a new squad of lead soldiers, he

made my happiness complete; not because of soldiers I possessed but rather that they

were hand made by my Father.

I sanded the edges smooth with emery paper until I was sure the seams wouldn’t

appear through the army green paint I applied on each soldier. Eventually, I had a

standing army of several dozen troops, some striding forward, others were crouched in a

firing position. A fearsome amount of men to mow down any enemy forces that might

have come by our neighborhood.

After Thanksgiving passed in my memory, an excitement started to build about

Santa Claus, his eight reindeer and his mysterious elves who were scheduled for a visit to

my house on Christmas eve. Department stores glowed in holiday splendors featuring

The Jesus Child, tucked away in a manger with shepherds, Mary and Joseph, wise men

and animals gathered close to the cradle. Scenes of decorated trees, candy canes, elves,

wreaths lit with electric candles and boughs of holly laced with red and green bows,

twinkling with lights, paraded through Gimbal’s and Wanamaker’s.

Outside department stores, display windows sparkled with toy villages, nestled

in winter scenes of bright snow with miniature trains, puffing white smoke from their

engines, winding their way amongst the cottages and small neighborhoods. Other store

fronts showed animated scenes from Christmas times in the past. It was magic time for a

small child, standing on the sidewalk jammed next to dozens of people gazing through

the glass, listening to Christmas carols playing from broadcast speakers placed close to

display windows.

Inside, being dragged unwillingly to visit Santa Claus, I became anxious, looking

up at Santa, sitting eight feet above the department store floor, beside a set of temporary

stairs rising to meet him. Climbing steps in the open, frightened me because of the height

above the floor and the thought of being pushed down a slide by an unfriendly, bored to

death elf. I managed to work my way through the mess and didn’t make a scene at the

store even though I was petrified.

I had made my list to show Santa when he pulled me into his chair but I was too

uncomfortable to say anything to him. It didn’t matter anyway because Mother had

mailed my list the previous day to Santa at the North Pole after she placed a three cent

stamp on the envelope for postage. Appearing at the top of my list was an erector set,

complete with pulleys and electric motor. Also mentioned in the list, a chemistry set, with

instructions on how to make gunpowder.

Most of our neighbors had decorated their homes a week before the Christmas

holidays, but not in our family. We were used to decorating the old fashioned way; on

Christmas Eve. Being led to believe this resulted from old Charlton traditions, I held

that thought well into my thirties before I realized differently.

When my brother Bill, Dad and I showed up at the Christmas tree lot around four

on Christmas eve, only left over, scraggly trees, greeted me. The tree man told my Father,
“Take any tree you want for fifty cents.”

“How about two trees for fifty cents?” Dad answered.

“You can have as many as you need, mister. They won’t sell anymore.”

Bill picked out the first tree and I the second. Dad loaded them on top of our forty

two Chevy and tied them down. On the way back to our house, a feeling of

disappointment surrounded me. These trees were so ugly compared to other trees I had

seen earlier. But when Dad strapped the two trees together and pruned them, they looked

wonderful to me. I wasn’t about to let his secret out to anyone.

We struggled to push the tree through the doorway, it was immense in size. Set up

in our living room, we started to put our lights on. Unfortunately, the lights were old and

decrepit, when one bulb went out the whole string went dark. It took a long time to place

the lights glowing against the tree branches. Next came the glass balls and trinkets from

long ago when my sister was born. Mother placed her two stuffed elves she had kept in a

small box in her dresser. They belonged to her from years in the past. Today, those two

elves sit in a small cabinet on my sunroom wall , covered by sliding glass doors. They

have earned their rest as I consider them too precious for to me to let them sit on the trees

anymore.

Hearing a gentle knock on the front door, Mother opened it. I had wished Santa

had come early to watch but instead, a group of caroling neighbors, stood at our doors

singing “Silent Night.” We were invited to join them caroling in the neighborhood but

Dad thanked them telling them how beautiful the Christmas carols were and that we were

too far behind in our decorating to join them.

Beautiful electric candle wreaths were placed in our front windows with a single

Christmas bulb glowing orange, reflecting light into the darkness outside. Joy’s train set

was assembled on a simple oval track, circling our two trunk tree. Consisting of an

enormous locomotive, a passenger car and a caboose car smaller than the middle car. The

track was oversized and the train set had been given to Joy on her first Christmas as a

baby. By the time I realized what Christmas was about, my sister reached her teen age

years and replaced the train set with her new interest, boys in her classroom.

After we finished decorating our house, I was promptly taken upstairs because

Mother told me the same story every year; that Santa didn’t visit children’s homes if they

were awake on Christmas eve. Bill, my older brother didn’t seem too excited about Santa

coming, not as much as the presents he hoped would be around the tree in the morning.

Sneaking down the staircase late at night to see if Santa had come yet, we were chased

back to bed by our Father telling us we would scare Santa off unless we went to sleep.

On Christmas morning , under the tree, sat my own chemistry set and a metal

erector set with it’s own electric motor. Taking the chemistry set outside because my

Mother insisted on it, I found mixing bowls, small wooden stirring sticks, glass tubes, a

Bunsen burner and rows of chemical lined in order strapped to the lid as I opened it. I

searched through the set until I found a book of instructions showing formulas to make

things. Under gun power, a list of chemicals to be used in making it, lit the page up.

Bill had received a new BB gun and promptly loaded it, shooting the enemy who

climbed over our retaining wall that led to the back alley. Mother rushed out the back

door when she heard the pop of a tiny explosion, propelling an empty can of pears that I

had used as a rocket over the ignited gun powder.

Later in the morning, began the ritual of Mother wresting with a twenty some

pound turkey, with Dad’s help. It took all day to cook the bird covered with a piece of

cheese cloth with Mother basting that monster four times an hour. She fretted over it,

worrying she might over cook it but by magic, it turned out perfect year after year. Our

Christmas dinner was shared by all four of my grandparents. Only one more year would I

be able to share the Christmas season with all four of my grandparents. The usual side

dishes were brought by my Nana Ney and Nana Beauchamp. After the turkey was

attacked by our whole family, Nana Ney brought her dessert, a time honored event. She

had made two large glass containers of what she called “Favorite Dessert“. We made

quite a commotion over lady fingers laced in layers of home cooked chocolate pudding

being topped by whipped cream made at the last minute in Mother’s kitchen.

The first dish, disappeared with the first serving. It packed a lot of calories and

richness in the pudding, but Bill, Dad and I attacked it with second helpings. After

dinner my parents and grandparents shared a tiny glass of crème d mint by the fireplace.

As children we were allowed one sip only. It thought it tasted God awful but I didn’t say

anything about it.

Our Philadelphia weather seemed especially biting that year but I didn’t care,

being surrounded by all my family. It was a relief to put the war behind us even if only

for a day and celebrate the true spirit of Christmas which my grandfather Pop Pop Ney,

[Dr. William C. Ney] prayed about on his Christmas Eve service he conducted at

Temple Lutheran Church in Brookline. Pop Pop Ney was senior minister at Temple

Lutheran from nineteen twenty until nineteen fifty one, when he was given the honor as

Pastor Emeritus.

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