Robert's Hill (or The Time I Pooped My Snowsuit) and Other Christmas Stories

by Jeremy John

Overview

This humorous and heartfelt collection of Christmas tales reflects on the best of the holiday: family, tradition, binge drinking, divorce, and poop.

Robert’s Hill (or The Time I Pooped My Snowsuit) and Other Christmas Stories is the perfect collection for Christmas in the real world. No talking snowman or cute woodland animal who saves Christmas (actually, there is a pigeon who steps in and saves the big day). This selection of heart-warming tales is about the true magic of the season: receiving the ultimate gift only to break it immediately; playing drinking games while watching a holiday special; getting divorced over what seemed like the perfect present. Robert’s Hill even settles the debate on which is the greatest Christmas movie ever made (that’s not it) and finally explains how the candy cane was invented (no one really knows, so why not make it up?). This collection will be enjoyed by everyone or, at least, anyone who still loves Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, missess the toys they had as a kid, and thinks pooping your snowsuit is funny.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781459749405
Publisher:	Dundurn Press
Publication date:	11/09/2021
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	160
File size:	2 MB

About the Author

Jeremy John is currently ranked as the sixty-second most famous person from Brantford, Ontario. (Look it up. There are a lot.) Jeremy’s career in broadcasting has included co-hosting shows on 680 NEWS, KiSS FM, and Breakfast Television. Jeremy lives in Sudbury, Ontario.

Jeremy John is currently ranked as the sixty-second most famous person from Brantford, Ontario. (Look it up. There are a lot.) He is the author of Robert’s Hill (or The Time I Pooped My Snowsuit) and Other Christmas Stories. Jeremy lives with his wife, kids, and a dog he pretends not to like in Sudbury, Ontario.

Read an Excerpt

Robert’s Hill
(or The Time I Pooped My Snowsuit)

It was Christmas 1982, and I was the fat kid. No surprise. I had been the fat kid for the ten Christmases before that, so this was nothing special. But this time I was the fat kid with the hottest toy of the season. At least that is what the commercials said. But most important was the fact that I had one and none of my friends did. Not that I had many friends. I was the fat kid, after all. But none of them had what I had.

I raced to the phone, as all the other presents had been opened, and made four quick calls.

Andy, Darren, Jeff Marcella, and that smelly kid whose name I can’t remember anymore. It’s funny looking back — for the life of me, I can’t remember his name. But even now, after all these years, whenever someone burns a grilled cheese sandwich, I think of him.

I called my four best, and only, friends in order of their popularity. Darren, then Jeff Marcella, then stinky kid, and then Andy. Andy may not have been fat, but he certainly wasn’t very popular.

The conversation was the same with each of my friends that morning. When they answered the phone, I quickly asked them what they got first so I could save the best — my present, the hottest toy of the season — for last. They finished their lists with something like, “Ah and my mom got me some clothes and junk.” And I’d say something nice, like, “Oh that’s great” — then a dramatic pause and BAM — “Guess what, I got a GT Snowracer!”

Just like that, with a few simple words, I went from being the fat kid … to being the fat kid with a cool new toy. It may not seem like much, but in the fickle world of grade-school friends, it moved me all the way up to Darren’s level of popularity. Which was a big jump from my usual tie with the kid who smelled like charred cheese.

According to the commercial, the GT Snowracer was the ultimate in downhill sledding technology. The ads had scenes of teenagers ankle deep in clean white snow, smiling from ear to ear, as a huge group of friends joined in the fun and their parents looked on proudly.

This was not an ancient toboggan built from heavy slats of wood. No, my friends. The all-black beauty had a “powder-coated tubular frame created using high impact plastic that took thirty years to develop.” My god, it even came from Sweden. From the first time I saw that commercial to each of the three thousand times I saw it again before that day, I was looking forward to the time when I would “enjoy the thrill and excitement of sledding in a way you have never experienced before.”

No one was able to leave the house that day. So, the first run would have to wait until Boxing Day. Which meant I had twenty-four hours to prepare. The trick was to make sure that all the most popular kids walked away saying, “Wasn’t that GT Snowracer that Jeremy had just great?” and not, “wasn’t that GT Snowracer that the fat kid had just great?” This was certainly tricky, but I had a lot of time to plan out the perfect afternoon.

I decided I would arrive early. Get in a few trial runs. Just to make sure I knew what I was doing and that I looked good when my friends arrived. The guys would start showing up, and they’d ask about the GT. I would rave about my new gift, but not too much. You don’t want to oversell it. Then they’d ask for a turn.

I’d explain that I still wanted to get in one more run, to check the steering or maybe try a different path down the hill. You know, letting the anticipation build.

Then I would slowly hand it over, so that they knew it was precious. Then I’d offer some final words of wisdom, something to remind them that I was an expert in the subtleties of controlling this finely crafted plastic Swedish speed machine.

I’d say something like, “If it gets too fast, you’re going to want to bail out. That’s only natural. But remember the handbrake, and if anything goes wrong, try to steer toward open snow.” I’d reassure them with a pat on the shoulder and watch them cruise down the hill smiling. After they stopped at the bottom, I would shout out something like, “That was pretty good, for your first time.” They would trudge up the hill as fast as they could. Not only to beg me for another turn but also to congratulate me on my gift, compliment me on my bravery, and marvel at my generosity.

It was the perfect plan, and there was no way anything could possibly go wrong.