MY MOST MEMORABLE CHRISTMAS
Posted: Tue Apr 17, 2012 8:51 am
By this world’s standards I grew up poor. I had the distinct advantage of not knowing we were poor. We always had enough to eat. I always had clothes to wear, even if they may not have been the “in thing.” I started working when I was 12. I usually bought my own clothes after that.
By today's standards I came from a large family, five children. I was the oldest child. I had a brother 18 months younger than I. He had severe cerebral palsy, and a whole host of accompanying medical problems. He died when he was four years old. Due largely to medical expenses incurred by his special needs, my parents were deeply in debt from the time I was old enough to remember.
I recall in the early to mid '50s my dad got a raise in salary to $250 per month and my parents thought that was good. Dad didn't have a college education. He had worked as a timber faller until medical issues forced him out of the woods. He had an assortment of jobs when I was young, mostly in the automotive industry. In those days, auto parts counter man and service writer were not high paying positions. I can remember mom talking about how deeply in debt they were. I remember at one point she said they had in excess of $1000 in medical bills. Being very young I had no real concept of what that meant. The way this usually affected me was when we went to a store. Mom would tell me that I couldn't have something I wanted because she couldn't afford it. I grew up thinking this was normal. Perhaps, given the economic times, it was normal.
I did not grow up feeling that I was deprived because I couldn't have everything I wanted. I was my grandmother's oldest and favorite grandchild. Grandma used to spoil me a little bit. When we went to the drugstore where Grandma worked she would always let me pick out a package of Lifesavers, my choice of flavors. To me that was really special. Because I grew up in a family with lots of love I never felt shorted or slighted anyway.
It wasn't until the early 1960s that I felt poor. My parents scrimped and saved just enough money for a down payment on an acre of ground with an old rundown two room house with outdoor plumbing. At this time most of their money went into improving the house. There was no money left over for anything frivolous. Two additional children had been added to the family, my oldest little sister and my brother.
During this time, in early December, mom and dad told me that they wouldn't be able to afford Christmas this year. They didn't even get a Christmas tree. In retrospect, from an adult's point of view, I don't know where they could have put a Christmas tree in that tiny house. At ten years old all I knew was that we didn't have a Christmas tree. I think that bothered me more than not having presents.
There was a very kind elderly couple in the church we attended who brought us kids a box of used toys from their house. I was old enough to feel grateful and thankful for their thoughtfulness. For some reason though this only served to remind me how poor we really were. There was only one thing I wanted for Christmas and it cost almost $10, a veritable fortune. I didn't even allow myself to think about it too much. I told my parents what I wanted but my mother gently told me it was just too much money. I understood that. Slowly I allowed my hopes and dreams to fade, knowing they could never be reality. I slowly adjusted to the idea of not having a Christmas that year, but in my heart I really missed not having a Christmas tree.
I begin to realize and think about what it meant to be poor. I knew dad didn't make a lot of money. I knew my parents were trying their best to provide a good home for us kids. I was also very grateful for my baby brother, but somewhere deep inside I felt that somehow life was not quite fair.
I didn’t notice that there were many families as poor or poorer than we were. I just noticed that there were lots of families with Christmas trees and presents. I finally gave up and stopped thinking about Christmas altogether. As I recall, in my efforts to distract myself from what I perceived as severe poverty, I started doing my homework more faithfully. I think I even became a model child for a short period of time. I helped mom around the house. I did my chores and brought in firewood without being asked. This too was out of the ordinary.
One of my main distractions and often a high point of my evening (remember this was in the days when only rich people owned television sets) was to indulge myself in our one entertainment luxury, reading the daily newspaper. An ongoing battle with my father was to have me refold the newspaper after I read it. Invariably, no matter how good my intentions were, I would sometimes forget to fold up the paper.
On Christmas Eve after reading the newspaper I made certain that I had folded the paper and placed it on dad's desk. Christmas morning I woke and realized I didn't have any reason to get out of bed early. At this point I allowed myself to indulge in a few minutes of self-pity. As I lay in my top bunk staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for myself, I was startled back to reality when my dad hollered, "Dale, I've told you 1000 times to fold the paper when you're done reading it. You get up right now and come fold this paper." With my eyes stinging from the effort to hold back the tears, I got up and went into the front room to fold the paper. I said, "Dad, I know I folded the paper last night." He said, "You did not, it is all over the desk." With a heavy heart and a lump in my throat I began to fold the paper. As I lifted the last section of the paper from the desk I saw a cardboard box.
It couldn't be! This was someone's idea of a cruel joke. The box said, Daisy Air Rifle BB Gun. This is what I had hoped against hope for. This was the one thing that I had wanted for Christmas. My mind told me that even though the box said it was a BB gun, it just couldn't possibly be true. A BB gun was too expensive. This had to be a cruel joke. I looked at my dad; he said, "Open it." Not daring to believe that the box really held a brand-new Daisy Air Rifle, I opened it. Nestled in the box was that long wished for BB gun. "Is this for me, Dad?" I ask in disbelief. "It's all yours," he said with a big grin.
I don't know to this day where my parents got the money for that BB gun or how many sacrifices they made so I could have it. In my life I have had many Christmases. I have opened many presents, 99% of which I don't remember. I will always remember the BB gun. Even more important than the BB gun I will remember the afternoon my dad and I spent together as he taught me gun safety and how to shoot. I realized then that richness and poverty are not a measure of material wealth but a measure of love. I realized that morning I was a millionaire!
Many children who grow up in poverty often become adults who are obsessed with the need for material wealth. The richness of love that my parents provided taught me different values and saved me from such a fate. I have never been concerned about material wealth. It is possibly for this reason that most of the jobs I have held in my adult life have focused on people.
Because of the loving and nurturing home I grew up in, my life has focused more on people instead of things. The BB gun itself, in the incident above was not important. It could have been a bicycle, a new baseball or a new mitt. The important part of the story is people. My parents taught me an invaluable lesson, probably without being aware of it. They taught me that people, in this case me, are worth making sacrifices for. They taught me that material things are not important, but people are. They taught me that they loved me.
Throughout my life I have tried to place people above wealth or things. There have been times in my life when I sacrificed my needs, sometimes even my health, to meet the needs of my family. I have applied this concept throughout my life, sometimes more effectively than others. But without even thinking about it, this has become a core value in my life.
In most of my adult working life I have been dealing with people, sometimes in service industries, sometimes in sales, sometimes in ministry and now in social services. I have found that the more involved I am in helping people and the less I am involved with things and processes, the more content and happy I am. This is true of working situations as well as recreation. I enjoy fishing but I really enjoy it if I take a friend or two with me. These truths, which my parents taught me on my most memorable Christmas, have stayed with me throughout my life. They impact every situation I am in and affect every aspect of my life. Thanks, Mom and Dad!
By today's standards I came from a large family, five children. I was the oldest child. I had a brother 18 months younger than I. He had severe cerebral palsy, and a whole host of accompanying medical problems. He died when he was four years old. Due largely to medical expenses incurred by his special needs, my parents were deeply in debt from the time I was old enough to remember.
I recall in the early to mid '50s my dad got a raise in salary to $250 per month and my parents thought that was good. Dad didn't have a college education. He had worked as a timber faller until medical issues forced him out of the woods. He had an assortment of jobs when I was young, mostly in the automotive industry. In those days, auto parts counter man and service writer were not high paying positions. I can remember mom talking about how deeply in debt they were. I remember at one point she said they had in excess of $1000 in medical bills. Being very young I had no real concept of what that meant. The way this usually affected me was when we went to a store. Mom would tell me that I couldn't have something I wanted because she couldn't afford it. I grew up thinking this was normal. Perhaps, given the economic times, it was normal.
I did not grow up feeling that I was deprived because I couldn't have everything I wanted. I was my grandmother's oldest and favorite grandchild. Grandma used to spoil me a little bit. When we went to the drugstore where Grandma worked she would always let me pick out a package of Lifesavers, my choice of flavors. To me that was really special. Because I grew up in a family with lots of love I never felt shorted or slighted anyway.
It wasn't until the early 1960s that I felt poor. My parents scrimped and saved just enough money for a down payment on an acre of ground with an old rundown two room house with outdoor plumbing. At this time most of their money went into improving the house. There was no money left over for anything frivolous. Two additional children had been added to the family, my oldest little sister and my brother.
During this time, in early December, mom and dad told me that they wouldn't be able to afford Christmas this year. They didn't even get a Christmas tree. In retrospect, from an adult's point of view, I don't know where they could have put a Christmas tree in that tiny house. At ten years old all I knew was that we didn't have a Christmas tree. I think that bothered me more than not having presents.
There was a very kind elderly couple in the church we attended who brought us kids a box of used toys from their house. I was old enough to feel grateful and thankful for their thoughtfulness. For some reason though this only served to remind me how poor we really were. There was only one thing I wanted for Christmas and it cost almost $10, a veritable fortune. I didn't even allow myself to think about it too much. I told my parents what I wanted but my mother gently told me it was just too much money. I understood that. Slowly I allowed my hopes and dreams to fade, knowing they could never be reality. I slowly adjusted to the idea of not having a Christmas that year, but in my heart I really missed not having a Christmas tree.
I begin to realize and think about what it meant to be poor. I knew dad didn't make a lot of money. I knew my parents were trying their best to provide a good home for us kids. I was also very grateful for my baby brother, but somewhere deep inside I felt that somehow life was not quite fair.
I didn’t notice that there were many families as poor or poorer than we were. I just noticed that there were lots of families with Christmas trees and presents. I finally gave up and stopped thinking about Christmas altogether. As I recall, in my efforts to distract myself from what I perceived as severe poverty, I started doing my homework more faithfully. I think I even became a model child for a short period of time. I helped mom around the house. I did my chores and brought in firewood without being asked. This too was out of the ordinary.
One of my main distractions and often a high point of my evening (remember this was in the days when only rich people owned television sets) was to indulge myself in our one entertainment luxury, reading the daily newspaper. An ongoing battle with my father was to have me refold the newspaper after I read it. Invariably, no matter how good my intentions were, I would sometimes forget to fold up the paper.
On Christmas Eve after reading the newspaper I made certain that I had folded the paper and placed it on dad's desk. Christmas morning I woke and realized I didn't have any reason to get out of bed early. At this point I allowed myself to indulge in a few minutes of self-pity. As I lay in my top bunk staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for myself, I was startled back to reality when my dad hollered, "Dale, I've told you 1000 times to fold the paper when you're done reading it. You get up right now and come fold this paper." With my eyes stinging from the effort to hold back the tears, I got up and went into the front room to fold the paper. I said, "Dad, I know I folded the paper last night." He said, "You did not, it is all over the desk." With a heavy heart and a lump in my throat I began to fold the paper. As I lifted the last section of the paper from the desk I saw a cardboard box.
It couldn't be! This was someone's idea of a cruel joke. The box said, Daisy Air Rifle BB Gun. This is what I had hoped against hope for. This was the one thing that I had wanted for Christmas. My mind told me that even though the box said it was a BB gun, it just couldn't possibly be true. A BB gun was too expensive. This had to be a cruel joke. I looked at my dad; he said, "Open it." Not daring to believe that the box really held a brand-new Daisy Air Rifle, I opened it. Nestled in the box was that long wished for BB gun. "Is this for me, Dad?" I ask in disbelief. "It's all yours," he said with a big grin.
I don't know to this day where my parents got the money for that BB gun or how many sacrifices they made so I could have it. In my life I have had many Christmases. I have opened many presents, 99% of which I don't remember. I will always remember the BB gun. Even more important than the BB gun I will remember the afternoon my dad and I spent together as he taught me gun safety and how to shoot. I realized then that richness and poverty are not a measure of material wealth but a measure of love. I realized that morning I was a millionaire!
Many children who grow up in poverty often become adults who are obsessed with the need for material wealth. The richness of love that my parents provided taught me different values and saved me from such a fate. I have never been concerned about material wealth. It is possibly for this reason that most of the jobs I have held in my adult life have focused on people.
Because of the loving and nurturing home I grew up in, my life has focused more on people instead of things. The BB gun itself, in the incident above was not important. It could have been a bicycle, a new baseball or a new mitt. The important part of the story is people. My parents taught me an invaluable lesson, probably without being aware of it. They taught me that people, in this case me, are worth making sacrifices for. They taught me that material things are not important, but people are. They taught me that they loved me.
Throughout my life I have tried to place people above wealth or things. There have been times in my life when I sacrificed my needs, sometimes even my health, to meet the needs of my family. I have applied this concept throughout my life, sometimes more effectively than others. But without even thinking about it, this has become a core value in my life.
In most of my adult working life I have been dealing with people, sometimes in service industries, sometimes in sales, sometimes in ministry and now in social services. I have found that the more involved I am in helping people and the less I am involved with things and processes, the more content and happy I am. This is true of working situations as well as recreation. I enjoy fishing but I really enjoy it if I take a friend or two with me. These truths, which my parents taught me on my most memorable Christmas, have stayed with me throughout my life. They impact every situation I am in and affect every aspect of my life. Thanks, Mom and Dad!
I had just read my own ""Life History"" ???? _____ I still remember,""THAT CHRISTMAS"""______________again,thanks for sharin'__Monk 
