We all have memories of some Christmas gifts that were very special to us. Most of mine were something for the outdoors, like the Mitchell 300 spinning outfit I got when I was about 15, the .22 Remington semiautomatic rifle I was given when I was 12 and still use to plink and shoot squirrels, and the camping mess kit and canteen I used for years in the wilds of my backyard.

When I was ten or so I wanted a new bicycle. That is how kids got around back then. We rode everywhere, from school to local ponds to go fishing. We even went hunting on our bicycles. My desire was a shiny new red bicycle as shown in the Sears catalog. I just knew I would be proud and happy with it.

About two weeks before Christmas holidays started at my elementary school I was out in the shop. My dad was principal and shop teacher. He worked hard at school but also ran a farm where we had 11,000 laying hens and sold eggs to local grocery stores. We also raised hogs and cows and most of our food came from those animals and the huge garden we had each year. We did not have a lot of money but lived well.

That day in the shop I saw two old rusty bicycles sitting by a work table. I didn’t think much of them, they looked terrible. Then, on Christmas morning, my brother and I found those bicycles, now shiny with new paint and repaired to new condition, by the Christmas tree.

My young heart sank. I really wanted a new bicycle. I never gave a thought to the hours may dad sanded and painted those bicycles, or the time it took to repair any small defect. I rode that bicycle for years.

Now I appreciate the work he put into it and the fact we just could not afford new bicycles for my brother and me. I still regret not telling dad what that gift meant to me when I was old enough to think about it.
When I was 11 or 12 I had learned my parents were Santa Claus by my younger brother, three years junior to me, still believed. But he was beginning to question the idea of Santa Claus.

We lived in a big old frame farm house and it had an apartment attached to the back. For years we rented the two rooms to military families stationed at Ft. Gordon, then my grandmother lived there for several years. It had a bedroom, kitchen with room for a small dining table, and a bathroom.

A few days before Christmas that year I went to that bathroom since the other one in the house was busy. I heard chirping and opened the shower curtain, and saw a cage with two parakeets in it. I immediately knew they were Christmas presents for me and my brother but did not want to spoil the secret. We had not asked for parakeets but always loved pets of all kinds.

Christmas Eve my brother and I were in bed, trying to stay awake. He started asking me about Santa Claus and I had an inspiration. I told him we should ask for something from Santa that nobody else knew about. Since it was just a few hours before we could get up and find our presents there would be no way we could get that present unless Santa heard us.

I suggested we ask for parakeets! And guess what. The next morning, there they were. My parents almost ruined it by saying they were a gift from them. I saw my brother’s face drop.

I quickly covered, getting my brother alone and explaining that since Santa knew our secret wish was being fulfilled by my parents he did not have to bring us the birds. His face lit up and he believed for a couple more years.

Our gifts back in the 1950s and early 60s were very simple. There was always something special, like the revolving ducks you shot at with a rubber tipped dart. Or the bicycles, .22 rifle or camping gear. The rest of our presents were clothes and other needed stuff.

Stockings were hung by the fireplace and they were always stuffed with fruit like apples and oranges, pecans and small items like a box of sparklers. Strangely enough, the oranges looked just like the ones in the sack we had brought back from a visit to my grandmother just before Christmas in Florida and the pecans where the same kinds we had gathered from our yard. But finding them in our stockings made the oranges sweeter and the pecans taste even better.

Christmas does not have to be so commercial. Small things may not mean a lot right now to kids, but what you do for them now will bring great memories for them later in life. Parents’ time is more valuable than any gift could ever be. Spend time with your kids this Christmas and make memories that will last long after the toys are broken and forgotten.