A Christmas to Remember

A selected story from “Listening to the Grass Grow, by Harry C. “Cuz” Bagley, long time friend of Asheville Citizen columnist Bob Terrell and guest columnist for The Cherokee Scout in Murphy, NC.

For several weeks folks have been asking if I’m expecting a BIG Christmas.  I tell them all the same thing, “No, I’m not. I’m just hoping for a happy one.” Somehow I’m satisfied at Christmas time if the folks are all well and we can spend it together.

You see, along about this time every year I can’t help but remember one particular Christmas that I had many, many years ago.  That one came when I was twelve and it completely changed my outlook on every one since that date.

Those were the years of the Great Depression, and the hardships we knew during those years made an indelible impression on many a youngster, including me.  We were fortunate in that we lived on a big farm where we were able to raise an abundance of good substantial food.  This did get kinda coarse, now and then, but we never went hungry.  I guess our biggest problem back then was keeping clothes fit to wear amongst folks.

I reckon every youngan generally has one certain, particular thing which he’d most like to find under the tree on Christmas morning.  This particular Christmas I had my heart set on a pair of waterproof boots with a little pocket on the side for a knife.  I had even torn out of the catalog the page on which was shown a picture of a pair like I wanted.

And every afternoon on my way home from school I would pass a store that had a pair exactly like my dream boots in the window.  I am sure I wanted those boots more than anything I had ever heard of before.  And I never overlooked an opportunity to hand that tattered page from the catalog out of my pocket to discuss with Mama and Papa the wonderful merits of a pair of boots like they were.  When I’d ask them if they thought, maybe, I would get them, they would invariably say, “I hope so,” or “We’ll see.” I thought that I could never get their enthusiasm   to equal mine.  And it just seemed to me that I wanted those boots so badly that it would be criminal, almost, if I didn’t get them. Finally the great day arrived, and I’m sure I heard the first rooster crow that morning.  I made a beeline for the Christmas tree.  It took just a split second to realize there were no boots under the tree.

Mama and Papa had met me in there, and Mama had big tears rolling down her cheeks.  And Papa looked as if he, too, could have shed a tear without half trying.  My disappointment was enormous, but I’m sure it was nothing to compare with theirs.

Mama put her arms around me and cried so hard and Papa came over and patted me on the shoulder and said, “Son, we sure wanted to get you those boots, but we just couldn’t do it.” Then Mama tarried to explain about Evelyn not having any shoes, and about my having a pretty good pair of brogans.  Then she went on to tell me, trying to cheer me up, about Papa getting a sack of flour and some chocolate and she said, “I’m going to bake us one of the biggest and best chocolate cakes for dinner today that you ever saw, and we’re gonna have biscuits, too.”

But I really wasn’t interested in anything to eat and I didn’t hang around to see my little sister open the box that had her brand new shoes inside.  Nor was I interested in the new top or the little bitty sack of marbles with my name on them.  As soon as I milked the cows and fed the other stock, I called my dog and we headed for the woods.  Mama called and said, “Son, don’t be late for dinner.”

When I got back home, Mama told me to hurry and wash up so we could eat.  She also told me that Buddy Larkin was gonna eat Christmas dinner with us.  Buddy was the son of a neighbor who lived down the road a  piece.

We all got to our places, sat down, and bowed our heads and Papa prayed, “Lord I feel mighty humble today, and I want to thank you for all you have done for me.” Then Papa began listing many things that the Lord had done for us all.  Finally, he said, “And Lord I want to thank you for Mama here, and these children,  and ask you for one more favor – Will you please, Lord, help me find some way to get a pair of boots?”

Papa had a little more to talk to the Lord about, but I didn’t hear what it was.  I was sobbing.

When I had sat down and began listening to Papa’s prayer, I thought about little Buddy Larkin sitting beside me.  His mama had died just a few weeks before, and I remember that his papa stayed away from home from several days at the time.  And long before Papa said a word to the Lord about the boots I hadn’t gotten for Christmas, I was breaking to pieces inside.

As soon as Papa said, “Amen,” I got up and hugged his neck and wept.  Then I went to Mama and did the same thing.  And I tried to tell them both how much they meant to me and just how UNIMPORTANT those boots really were.

I’ve never eaten a better Christmas dinner than Mama fixed that day, and I’ve never seen as many tears shed as we all did.