Generosity and Christmas Presents

Even as a three year-old, I doubted the Santa myth, but all the beautifully wrapped presents were quite convincing.

The first Christmas I have any coherent recollection of was the year I was three. That means I was three and would turn four in exactly 2 months from Christmas day. I was sick with a bad cold and tremendous ear aches. That was natural for me. Sinus and ear problems were as common for me when I was a kid as getting up in the morning and playing with my friends. Mom would hold me on her lap and try to console me. But how does anyone get consoled when their inner ears are attacking them? The spoonfuls of hot oil that mom tried, did nothing but take the dull throbbing aches to sharp levels of excruciating pain.

I walked out into the living room of our little Boise house and the first thing I saw was a giant piece of plywood that dad had nailed train rails on and painted roads and a giant, two dimensional city. He put train cars on the tracks, plugged in the power, and suddenly the train started moving around the track. I was mystified! The train emitted a pungent odor of hot electrical wiring that I will never forget.

I grabbed a few cars and began driving them along the black painted roads so beautifully brushed on the board. Dad was really creative and he didn't spare any expense to make his little boys really happy. Like most dads who buy their toddling boys big toys, he had as much or more fun playing with our new toy as we did. In fact, he was still playing with “his” new train set long after Mikey and I lost interest and went on to playing with the boxes that our toys came in.

Christmas was a time when we drove up to Pine Top and looked at all the Christmas lights. We sang Christmas carols as we drove along. It was family togetherness. Mom was a decent singer. Dad sang alright, but he made-up his own pitch to every song. Many years later, dad joined the Church Choir because “they needed more voices.” Barbara Young stopped midstream during one of the first rehearsals and invited dad and Steve __ to quit the choir. Apparently they didn't need more voices in the group; they needed more singers.

I remember the pretty combinations of red, green, blue, and white during the holiday season. There was always something magical about this season. Decorating the house and putting ornaments and lights on the Christmas tree was exciting. We always had a live tree that made the house smell like a forest. Sometimes mom bought tinsel and draped it on the tree to go along with the other decorations.

When I was around ten, for Christmas dad bought Mikey and me some leather craft kits. We each got the same kit with a wooden hammer and a number of metal leather tools for carving and decorating leather. With the kit came a number of projects like a key keeper, wallet, and comb protector. I didn't know there was a need for a comb protector until that year I got my leather craft set.

Most Christmases, mom and dad would have us kids give them our wish list. I seldom filled out my wish list because I liked to be surprised on Christmas morning. I was surprised at some of the gifts I ended up getting. My favorite gift of all time was a cassette recorder/player that I got on the Christmas when I was eight years-old. I had myself pegged to be the next great country western singer like Jim Reeves. Recording my song of “Billy Bayou” accompanied with my guitar that was missing two strings, was a hit with my mother.

Even though money was tight, mom and dad always tried to make Christmas special. I suppose it was because Christmas for them as kids was not that special. Dad talked about feeling happy as a kid to get a pair of new socks and an orange at Christmas time. I always felt sorry for him that he didn't get cool toys and trucks. I also felt sorry for all the poor kids in Salmon that I knew did not have a Merry Christmas. The kids with alcoholic fathers or out-of-work parents (and there were quite a few) were the focus of my sorrow.  

When I was around six or seven, I knew for sure that Santa Claus was a fraud. Nobody tried to talk me out of it because I didn't say much about my epiphany. Also, even though I knew it was a sham, I liked to play along. Fantasy, even though the real truth was evident, was still fun. Looking out the window on the night of Christmas Eve and imagining I saw Santa’s sleigh flying through the air was exciting.

Christmas was also a time for TV. Cartoon Christmas specials were a big hit in the Hicks House. Even though I had seen the same specials every year, they were still fun to watch. Watching the numerous commercials during the programs even had an element of excitement.

One year, Grandma and Grandpa Henry came to visit for  the holidays. I suppose I was around nine years old. I knew that mom's folks were wealthy and mom and dad threatened us kids to adhere to proper decorum. That means we were forbidden to ask for money or to accept it if offered unless it was authorized by mom or dad.

Dad was a school teacher which meant that payday for him was always at the end of the month. This particular Christmas, it was a few days until there would be any money in dad's and mom's bank account. Grandpa Henry offered to spot dad some cash for Christmas. He could reimburse him on payday. Dad accepted. Grandpa pulled a giant wad of cash out of his pocket that was held together with a diamond-studded money clip. He rolled out a handful of $100 bills and handed them to dad. That was the most money I had ever seen.

That was the first time that “generosity” had meaning in my conscious. Merry Christmas to us.