December 2, 2022

Percival’s Sunshine

The Village of Forestville’s Annual Christmas Walk is going well.

The young and old are walking up and down Main Street drinking hot cocoa, eating cookies, singing Christmas Carols, waving at the people in the store windows who are dressed as Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus, The Grinch, Elves, Spiro Agnew. The usual stuff.

Sure, it’s a problem when people try to sing a Christmas song while also drinking cocoa or licking a candy cane, as this leads to several people choking, including Petunia Frau who is gagging so seriously that several passersby by are pouncing on her to perform the Heimlich maneuver. Thankfully, it works and the hot liquid and chunks of candy are now shooting from Petunia’s gullet and striking Adonis Hepburn in both eyes, temporarily blinding him and he is screaming in pain, the sissy.

But hey, it’s Christmas, and this shit happens.

So, overall, Forestville’s Christmas Walk, which has been held every year since 1974 except for 2020 because of Covid-19, and, also, except for 1975 through 1988 because everyone somehow forgot about Christmas for 14 years in a row, is a nice event.

Especially now that the parade has begun. Here comes Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus, riding atop a fire truck! And now, riding in a series of convertibles despite the cold, we have the Forestville High Girl’s Softball Team, regional champs three of the last nine years, throwing softballs to the crowd. They have bad aim, of course, so they are mostly breaking windows of the very businesses the event is trying to promote and several shop owners are saying terrible things about the teens, their mothers, and God. But again, what’s a Christmas without a few bumps in the road?

But now…but now…here we are.

Luscious Lord, here we are now.

Percival Babbitt has been talking about it since Labor Day. He told his parents, his wife, his dog, his other dog, the ghost of his Aunt Alma who visits him in the bathroom on Tuesdays, everyone. He has let everyone know about his Christmas plans but no one honestly thought he would follow through.

But now, here he is, with a Santa Claus cap, white beard, Speedo, and Converse high-tops, tied to a crucifix, with a large radio strapped to his bare chest blaring “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina And The Waves.

None of us thought he’d do it.

We all thought he hated that song. --TK