Christmas break, 1961

Coming home for Christmas and observing my barren bedroom didn’t do much to bolster my holiday spirits. To get ready for the relatives, Mom had made the house “presentable,” including my “pig pen.”

To avoid unpleasantries, a holiday truce was declared and the subject became Christmas dinner.

While arranging gifts, I spotted Dad skulking upstairs, clutching his needle-nose pliers. How odd!

Come Christmas morn, Dad handed me a small, beribboned box containing the silver chain from his Army days. He had removed his heart-shaped locket and affixed the tiki charm from my broken key chain.

I had been bemoaning the absence of this sentimental favorite after doing bedroom inventory. Dad had found it in the trash and decided to make a necklace.

The melding of his chain and my waif from the wastebasket created a talisman of indomitable powers, except where the Cleveland Browns were concerned in later years.

For decades, my old pal Mr. Tiki has been emitting good juju. He has also been a constant reminder of Dad’s random acts of kindness and our many jolly times together.