Christmas is a bittersweet time for me. All the good and not so good memories come flooding back and I know those days and times are gone from my life forever. Memories are all that are left.
Good ones involve getting up Christmas morning to the joy of toys and unexpected gifts. I guess my brother and I were a bit greedy, we hung one of mama’s old stockings on the mantle rather than a big sock.
But they were always filled with everything from oranges, bananas and pecans to rolls of caps, boxes of sparklers, bags of candy, boxes of .22 bullets and many other necessities of life. I think Santa picked up the pecans from our yard and the oranges from the big bag we always brought back from our week before Christmas visit to grandma in Ocala.
There were the gifts Santa left, which included one big gift and many smaller ones each year. Big things I remember best are the high-power BB/pellet gun I got when I was 10, the strongest on the market at the time. It would fire a pellet with the same velocity as a .22 short. And the Remington semiautomatic .22 I got when I was 12, the real thing.
One year I got a set of Duckback briar britches and coat, a great need when quail and rabbit hunting. Another is the stand that had metal ducks that revolved, and a gun that shot rubber suction darts at it.
Smaller gifts included the usual underwear and socks, but even more appreciated were the insulated hunting versions of them. Boxes of .410 shells, hunting knives, mess kits, hunting caps, hand warmers, fishing lures and other outdoor stuff topped the list.
One memory brings back sad regret. When I was about 12 I wanted a new bicycle, as did my brother. But those were very lean years. Daddy was the principal and shop teacher at Dearing Elementary School and one afternoon I walked into the shop while waiting on him to go home.
Hanging from wires were two old bicycles that had been carefully disassembled, sanded and painted. Daddy had got some junked bikes and repaired them to almost new status. I got a sinking feeling when I saw them, I knew that would be my present, not a new one.
I am afraid daddy saw the disappointment in my eyes Christmas morning, and it no doubt broke his heart. He did the best he could, sacrificing things he wanted to do more for us, and working to make us something he could not afford, even thought he worked all day at school then went home to run our farm.
I loved that bike and rode it for years. I would give anything to be able to go back and thank him for it and tell him how much that memory means to me.
A happier memory is when I was about 8 or 9 years old. I knew about Santa but my younger brother still believed, although he was starting to question it.
Our old house had a bathroom in the back off my grandmother’s apartment that we seldom used after she moved out. For some reason I went to the bathroom a couple days before Christmas and heard birds chirping. When I pulled back the shower curtain a bird cage with two parakeets was hidden back there.
Christmas Eve Billy and I went to bed but could not sleep. He kept asking me about Santa. It told him let’s make a wish for something no one but Santa would know and see if it comes true. Let’s wish for parakeets!
The next morning he was excited and amazed to see the birds in our gifts. My parents almost messed it up, saying the birds were from them, not Santa. I convinced my brother since Santa knew they were giving us birds he didn’t need to. He believed another year!
I do not ever remember getting daddy anything, but when I got old enough, I always had to find a bag of chocolate crème drops for mama. She loved them and chocolate covered cherries so I tried to make sure she had some. That is really the only kind of bought sweets she ever ate, all the rest were homemade.
One very sad gift memory involves a neighbor. Lynn was about two years younger than me and a tomboy so she liked the same kinds of things I liked. My family went to visit for dinner a few days after Christmas.
Lynn had gotten a stand-up punching toy, about five feet tall shaped like snowman with a heavy weight bottom so hit bobbed back up when you hit it. I must have been nine or ten, and we were warned to keep the toy away from the floor furnace vent, it was very hot.
Stupid me drug the punching toy across the vent and the heat melted the plastic with a loud pop. Of course Lynn started crying. That pretty much ended the visit. I felt terrible but could do nothing. I wonder if daddy bought her another one, if he did I never knew.
As an adult presents really don’t mean much anymore. I tend to buy whatever I want when I want it, so it is hard to buy something for me. Gone is the joy and wonderment of Christmas morning.
If you have kids, make this as truly a wonderous time of the year as long as possible.