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TITLE (EDIT)
December 25th At Pam's Restaurant (Where Else ?) |
DESCRIPTION
A story about a father and son who go to Pam's Restaurant every Christmas, although one might wonder why the father insists on maintaining the tradition
[1,329 words] |
AUTHOR
Howard Freedman |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I write for a hobby. I have had two articles published but no short stories yet.
[April 2000] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3)
Getting A Free Lunch On Bay Street (Essays) This is about freeloaders and annual corporate meetings... They ain't there to listen to the CEO talk ! This article was published in NOW - Toronto in December 1998. [756 words]
Greatkiskadee@Hotmail.Com, Kenny And Me (Short Stories) This is a story about a fellow I met at a public library. We developed a friendship, partially through e-mail. I was curious about the e-mail handle he had chosen. [1,475 words]
Temping In TV Land (Short Stories) This is a story about a fellow who takes a temp (temporary) job in a company that is involved with selling advertising to television stations. [2,015 words]
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December 25th At Pam's Restaurant (Where Else ?)
Howard Freedman
December 25, 1999: The Cournoyer 14th Annual Christmas Dinner
(At Pam’s Restaurant of course)
December 25th is a boring day for those that don’t celebrate Christmas. Everything is closed on that day in Toronto. Well, almost everything. A few restaurants are open, perhaps a Jewish deli or a Chinese take-out. And of course, Pam’s Restaurant is open on Christmas Day. Pam’s is a Toronto tradition, having been in business for decades. The Cournoyer family has been going to Pam’s for their Christmas dinner each year since Mrs. Cournoyer passed away.
Pam’s is located at Yonge and Eglinton in mid-town Toronto. I was out for a walk today, debating between treating myself to a slice of Joe’s Pizza and having my third coffee at the Java Cup. I went for the Java Cup. The only patron besides me was Robert Cournoyer, an old classmate from high school. Robert and I weren’t particularly close in high school, and I hadn’t seen him in over twenty years. I recognised him though and introduced myself. I remembered Robert’s last name, but not his first.
Robert caught me up on the last twenty years relatively quickly. He works part-time in the evenings as a security guard for a condominium. He worked full time as a security guard at Toronto’s Eaton Centre for a few years, after graduating from university. He never worked in his field of study, which was urban geography. I asked him why he quit the full time job at the Eaton Centre. His reply: ‘All security guards want to be cops’. Okay, I thought, I guess it must be difficult to have to listen to frustrated wannabe policemen. I made myself a mental note about Robert’s comment; it sounded like an idea for a story. Robert continued. His mother died fourteen years ago. She had a heart attack. Robert said his father killed her. I gasped. ‘Robert, you just said ---‘. ‘Oh, don’t take me literally,’ he cautioned. ‘I just mean he contributed to her stress with his vicious temper. Anyway, when the ol’ lady died, I moved back home to help take care of my dad. I didn’t really need a full time job then, and I hated the other guards at the mall anyway. Dad and I go to Pam’s every year for Christmas dinner, since the ol’ lady died.’
‘Sounds like a nice tradition,’ I offered. ‘No, no way. My ol’ man says, We’re going to Pam’s and we’re GONNA enjoy it. I always go along, I figure I owe it to the ol’ man to go with him. He lost his wife, and my sister doesn’t talk to him. She feels the same way about how mom died as I do, but she won’t forgive him. I figure dad didn’t mean any real harm, its just his way and he’ll never change.’ Robert laughs. ‘I think the real reason sis’ won’t talk to the ol’ man is so she can avoid the Christmas dinner at Pam’s.
‘Is the dinner that bad?’ I asked. ‘Oh, it’s not the food, the food is quite good. It’s just that the same thing happens every year. We get in there and ---. Hey you know what, be a friend, come join us tonight? It’ll take the pressure off me, and maybe the ol’ man will be better with company around.’ ‘Well, I, uh, was going to ---‘. ‘C’mon, do it for a bud from your old track team.’ ‘I was never on ---‘ ‘Well, we took shop together, remember, wood shop with Mr. Staples?’ ‘No, I never took ---. Oh alright, I’ll do it.’ My plans were only to go to a movie by myself. Besides, the evening started to sound amusing. I’ve had a tradition with a group of guys to go for breakfast every Sunday. We’ve been doing that for thirteen years now. This Cournoyer tradition is even older than Breakfast Club! Pretty impressive!
Robert told me his dad made a reservation for 6 o’clock. I came a few minutes late and spotted Robert in line with his father. I could hear Mr. Cournoyer grumbling. I joined them in the line and Robert introduced me to his father. ‘Ah what’s my idiot son doing now, invitin’ old high school people he hasn’t seen in---Christ, why can’t he ever bring a GIRL along to our Christmas dinner.’ ‘Dad, Howie’s an old friend from ---‘ ‘I don’t wanna hear about that. Christ, every year they mess up the reservation. Next year we ought to go somewhere else.’ ‘Dad, I suggested, you know, some of the hotels ---‘ ‘Nah, forget it, we’re already here, and it’s a TRADITION’
Finally we reached the front of the line and the hostess asked if we had a reservation. ‘Yeah,’ Mr Cournoyer shouted, ‘Cournoyer for three. My idiot son phoned and changed the reservation this afternoon.’ The hostess took the reservation book from the counter. ‘Let’s see, I’ve got one for Collins, that’s for four, and Kormen for two---‘ ‘NO, its Cournoyer, same as the hockey player.’ ‘Hockey?’ the woman looked puzzled. Robert seemed irritated; he looked like he really had to hold back. ‘Probably before the woman’s time, dad.’ ‘Ah, no one remembers when hockey was good. That Canadiens team was magnificent. Yvan Cournoyer was a helluva hockey player. Robert looked at me. He whispered, ‘Say nothing and enjoy the ride.’
We finally got seated at 7. Mr Cournoyer complained throughout the entire meal about the messed up reservation. Robert nodded his head in agreement, but didn’t say a word. Mr. Cournoyer kept on about the Canadiens management. ‘That silly team, look who they trade. Roy, Damphousse, Carbonneau, we coulda used those guys. You follow hockey, Howard?’ ‘Yes, but I’m a Leaf fan, I replied.’ Mr. Cournoyer smiled. ‘Ah we had the better team in ’67. Beliveau, Richard, Backstrom, and of course, good ol’ # 12, Yvan Cournoyer.’ I debated him for a bit. I mentioned that Tim Horton was always my favourite player. ‘Yeah, Mr. Cournoyer grumbled. Nobody remembers Tim. They go into those donut shops and don’t see anything about the guy. Man, he was something. Miles Gilbert Horton. # 7. And that guy who wore # 14, Davey Keon ? He grabbed the Conn Smythe that year, didn’t he? See, MY son isn’t INTERESTED in this stuff, all he can talk about is that silly new basketball team we got here, what’s their name again?’
The waitress arrived with the bill. Mr. Cournoyer told her the meal was splendid. Robert looked shocked. I offered to contribute, but Mr. Cournoyer refused. The bill came to fourty dollars, including tax. He left a fifty-dollar bill on the table and we left.
‘Well, that was swell, Howard. You’ll join us next year?’ ‘Uh, sure, Mr. Cournoyer, wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ ‘Great, my boy, great. I’ll go get the car.’ Mr. Cournoyer left, and Robert and I shook hands. ‘Something came over my ol’ man,’ Robert mentioned. He seemed to calm down near the end. Usually he gets so cheap about the tip, and he starts barking about Chretien and the GST and how the service was lousy. It was nice for a change ---. Hey, listen about next year, you don’t have to---‘ ‘Robert, its ok.’ I gave him my phone number and suggested he call me for this for next year if his dad wanted.’ I explained that I felt that traditions were important, and I’d be happy to be part of this one once a year. It did seem to make him happy.’ Mr. Cournoyer had come around with the car. Robert got in. Mr. Cournoyer waved to me. He was smiling. They drove off.
I walked home after, thinking about the day. When I got home I dug out some old hockey cards I saved, including Yvan Cournoyer’s card. I put it in an envelope and stapled the envelope to my year 2000 daytimer, on the page for December 25, 2000.
End of story
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 1999 Howard Freedman |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
April 2000 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2003
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