Christmas 1984

The year was 1984.

Christmas was fast approaching. The enormous tree at the mall towered so high that the twinkling star atop it brushed the skylight. Lights were strung everywhere, and the first snow was on the ground.

At home, my little sister sang off-key carols and drew a kindergartner’s likeness of Santa on every piece of paper. Her letter to the big man at the north pole included all the usual girly stuff, like Care Bears and My Little Ponies. She had proudly dropped the envelope in the mail slot at the post office herself.

Mom had given me ‘the look’ when Sarah asked about my letter. Glancing around to make sure none of the guys from school were there, I had yanked the envelope out of my pocket and sent it sailing through the slot. Sarah had clapped with glee, mom had patted me on the back, and I had felt sick to my stomach.

Not because of the Santa thing. I had suspected for a couple of years about the big guy. When I asked last year, dad sat me down and gave me ‘the talk’. Sure, it had hurt to hear I was right, but then life went on. No, I felt sick because of far more serious stuff than ole St. Nick.

The way my bedroom is, if you put your ear to the heating grate and listen close, you can hear what’s being said in the kitchen. Now, normally, I’m a stand-up kind of kid. In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find another fourth grader that makes better grades, does more chores, or opens more doors for people. I take pride in being good.

But, I was scared. Dad had just gotten home. He’d gotten injured at work and spent weeks at the hospital. Sarah and I had only been allowed to see him once. It gave me nightmares. There were tubes helping dad breathe and bandages everywhere. Sarah had cried. I had too, a little bit.

So, I listened to them talking. They didn’t know how we were going to make it. This wasn’t about Christmas. It was bad, like losing the house and having to live in our car. Mom worked, but her paychecks couldn’t cover everything.

It felt cold laying there, even with the vent blowing warm air. Panic seized my throat and clenched my stomach. The candy apple red bike down at the store popped into my head. I shoved it aside with a swipe at my runny nose, my eyes stinging with tears I wouldn’t let fall.

So, what about some stupid old bike? We were going to get thrown out of our house!

The next day at school I got sent to the nurse for a stomachache. She asked what was wrong. I broke down and cried, telling her everything. Nurse Terry was one of mom’s friends, my buddy Tom’s mom, and a nice lady. She listened, gave me lots of tissues, and told me not to worry. She said things have a way of working out.

That evening, there was a knock at our door. When mom opened it, there was a long line of people. I helped dad get his wheelchair over there. Sarah hid behind mom’s skirt, peeking out. What happened then made me think that even if Santa didn’t exist, angels sure do. The people handed mom envelopes, lots of them. And each one said something.

“Bob mowed my lawn all summer after my leg broke.” Our neighbor.

“He stopped to change my flat tire in the rain.” Mrs. Kern, who played piano at church.

“He always builds the sets for our school plays.” My principal!

“Semper fi.” One of the men in dad’s military photos.

“He always leaves great tips, even when all he ordered was coffee.” Our favorite waitress at the diner.

“Bob mans the grill at the annual town picnic. Best burgers ever!” The Chief of Police.

“Played a mean guitar in our band back in high school.” Tall guy with a ponytail. Dad played in a band?!

I lost count of how many people there were. Sarah fell asleep curled up on the stairs. Mom had tears streaming down her cheeks. She either shook the person’s hand or gave them a quick, hard hug. Her apron pockets were stuffed with envelopes.

Dad, despite the cast on his leg and his arm in a sling, sat up straight and gave each man a grateful nod, each woman a thankful smile and a small wave of his good hand. My dad is a proud man and on a normal day, he would have turned down even a penny of help.

This certainly wasn’t a normal day for us and by the end of that line of people, I noticed that he had wet streaks down the sides of his face. As I stood by his side, he reached out to pull me close for a hard hug that I carefully returned.

The last person was Nurse Terry. She leaned to the side and gave me a quick wink, dad a small wave, then hugged mom.

“What we are all saying is, thank you.”

Christmas morning, there were only a few presents. Mom and dad said the only gifts they needed were Sarah and me. Sarah got one pink Care Bear. We both got clothes.

I didn’t get a bike. I got a little wooden box with a dollar and a note. The note had a heart and said, “To get you started.” I had told mom I wanted to earn it myself.

My gift was my family and all those people who cared about us. It was my best Christmas ever.



Featured in the "For Authors Newsletter (December 7, 2022)"