A Birthday Ode to Chip

This is a "copy" of the birthday gift I wrote and gave to Chip for his 40th birthday. What do you give a man who has everything?

An Ode to Chip

(In the form of a story)

By: Amy Carr

            The snow fell silently on the rocks around me. I paused for a moment to lift my head and try to catch the quiet snowflakes on my tongue before going back to my serious game of “cave woman making a home in the rocks during a snowstorm”. But only seconds later, a sound echoed through the snowy woods and down the rocky terrain that made my blood run cold and my heart start racing. It was the “Swedish boys”. I froze.

            As an adult, I can’t really give any realistic details on who the “Swedish boys” actually were or what their actual crimes against me were. In my childhood memory, they were giants…great, big teenage boys with sharp fangs, enormous claws, and a talent for throwing items with almost perfect aim...acorns, berries, small rocks, etc.  They also liked to shout things in a language I didn’t understand, thereby becoming all the more terrifying to me. I don’t even know if it was the same group of teenage boys or a different assortment each time but these boys had terrorized me from afar and just the sound of their voices was enough to send me into an insane panic.

            I looked over at my house…it was a whole parking lot and one street away. I only had a few moments. I needed to run.

            I stood up quickly and turned to scramble down the rocks when my foot slipped and my boot became wedged in a hole between 2 rocks. I was scared, I was frantic, and I was about to be discovered…and for the life of me, I couldn’t get my boot out. I tugged, I pulled, and I started to cry. From the top of the rocky ledge, the “Swedish boys” had spotted me and quickly began scooping up snow and packing it tightly into deadly snowballs. In a final moment of sheer Herculean strength, I managed to pull my foot out of my securely wedged boot and fled home in my sock amid a shower of snow balls.

            I feel quite certain that my entrance into the house was dramatic and loud. Mom came rushing to the front entry to calm me down and try to put together a cohesive story. Chip came out of his room and stood quietly listening in the hallway. Mom had escorted me over to the stairs to comfort and try to calm me. Chip continued to watch for a few moments and then walked with determination to the front door where he started putting on his winter gear. He tugged on his green snowsuit, then his mittens and hat. By the time he was pulling on his boots, I knew where he was going. It was a suicide mission. He would be slaughtered. He marched out the door before anyone could try to stop him.

            Quickly my mom and I rushed upstairs to watch from the giant picture window in our living room. I was filled with horror and admiration. He was 2 years younger than I was…those “Swedish boys” would swallow him whole! Chip marched across the street and through the parking lot. He climbed those slippery rocks and knelt down to tug and pull on my frozen boot. After a few moments, it came loose and he marched back home with it securely clutched in his furry, reindeer mittens. He walked in the door, set it down next to my other boot, took of his winter gear, and calmly walked back into his room to continue playing with his Legos. I was awestruck.

            That afternoon, Mom and I worked on making Chip a great, big “HERO” badge out of construction paper and ribbon to give him at Family Home Evening that night. His deeds would be retold, he would be given the great badge of honor, and the whole family would stand in awe at his sheer tenacity and courage. It would not be the last time that Chip would “come to the rescue”.

            The story of the Swedish boys and my abandoned boot has been told many, many times over the years. It has become family folklore, a legend. But to me, it has always stood as a great example of the type of person my “little” brother is. I was genuinely scared that day. I can remember the sheer terror I felt in seeing those boys and the sorrow in losing my boot. And I can also remember the feeling in my heart and soul as I watched my little brother do something courageous and selfless. It was no small thing to me.

            Over the years, Chip has rescued me many times. There were countless times that I knocked on his office door in the basement of the Kennedy building or his apartment at college, numerous phone calls late at night. We have driven several times across the United States together and I have read several really thick books out loud that I didn’t understand.  He has listened to me rant and rave, wail and cry, tell long rambling stories, and been gracious each and every time. He has given me blessings of comfort, written encouraging letters from Sweden to Denmark, and always been up for a grand adventure. He has been my friend, my brother, my therapist, my playmate, and now an amazing uncle and friend to my children.

            Chip…happy, happy 40^th birthday! Thank you for being a very real hero in my life and always setting the example of doing what is right…no matter what. Thank you for always being my friend. Thank you for so many fun, wonderful memories and shared experiences. I treasure each one.

Here is to 40 plus more years of adventure! I love you! 

Me reenacting the boot experience in the exact location it occurred on our visit to Sweden a couple of years ago.

My own daughter was the exact age when we visited Sweden as I was when the boot incident occurred. She is standing in the place where the "swedish boys" were throwing snowballs.

Looking at my house from where I was "trapped" in the rocks.