Saturday, December 5, 2015

Warm Christmas Memories, Part 2

notepad, pen, paper, writing, business, desk, officeI was born with the writing gene. My mom tells me she wrote dozens of story when she was younger. It was her way of dealing with a highly disturbing childhood. In terms of my writing, I guess I could say it's a shame I have no such trauma to drive it. But I'm okay with that.

I wrote short stories from the time I was able to string sentences together. Right now, if you asked, I could take you to a box in my room that has a notebook in it containing that glorious collection. There's a story of a boy who gets lost in the woods and kills a bear with a well-thrown pocket knife (that one is inspired by a tall tale told by my brother Don). Another memorable one is set thousands of years in the future when giant bees have taken over the world. Still another depicts the origins of Santa Claus. Some are in my childish scrawl while others are re-written by my mother. I was so young that my handwriting was too unclear to be easily read, so she sometimes translated them. She didn't make changes--just transcribed them. Some are on white notebook paper, but my favorites are on yellow. And that's the warm Christmas memory I want to share.

Retrieved from sodahead.com
The Waltons was at it height of popularity. It was probably Christmas 1974 or so. My family and I watched the show religiously. I was completely taken by John Boy, the oldest son of the family and an aspiring writer. I was so enamored of his story and his stories that I read The Homecoming, Earl Hamner's book on which the movie of the same name that served as the show's pilot is based. And I was convinced that I could be as good a writer as John Boy if only I could use the type of paper he used. It was called Big Chief and it had an Indian Chief on the front. The paper was rough and yellow with little bits of wood pulp showing through. Every time we went to any store that might sell paper, I made a beeline directly to it, but it was always in vain. No store in backwards little Parkersburg carried John Boy's paper. And that's what made the gift all the more special.

I woke up that Christmas morning with no idea of anything special. I figured I would get most of the stuff on my list, but how could even Santa, in whom I had begun to have doubts (Why did he give some kids more than others? Why did I hear paper crinkling, scissors cutting, and tape being dispensed downstairs on Christmas eve? Why, when I broke a toy, did Dad ask if I knew how much it had cost when the tag had said it came from Santa?), could pull off finding these precious gems. At first, I didn't notice them. They weren't under the tree. In fact, they weren't even wrapped. Instead, they were placed inconspicuously on the arm of the couch, majestically waiting to be filled with my tales of adventure and romance.

To this day, I don't know how my folks found them. This was decades before the days of Googling something. It was either in the store or catalog or it wasn't. The best you could do was go out of town and look in other stores. But there they were, nonetheless. I ran my fingers across the crude paper, enjoying the uneven surface, contemplating what stories I would tell on those priceless pages. This was, if I may use an image from A Christmas Story, my Red Ryder BB Gun, my greatest gift ever. That my parents had gone to the trouble to find them meant as much as it could to a dippy eleven-year-old. But even more than that, though I didn't think of it in these terms at the time, it legitimized my desire to be a writer. My parents approval meant--and still means--the world to me, and that they not only were okay with it but were so invested in the idea that they would go to the trouble to find my hero's paper was the final proof of their blessing. I'm not sure I ever thanked them properly for such a meaningful gift. Let this serve as that thanks.

So what was your greatest Christmas gift ever? Share in the comments and I'll choose someone at random to win a free gift.

12 comments:

  1. As a child my favorite gift was a Little Miss Makeup doll. My mom worked 2-3 jobs to provide for 5 kids. She always managed to make each holiday so special. I think I was 5 or 6 when I got my doll. My inner princess was ALIVE with joy! I have the pictures of that very moment somewhere in a box. I should track it down.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I wonder how many of us were influenced by John Boy. I like to cite my favorite authors as my influences, and yet, like you, our family gathered around to watch this show; and I think I've always known that John Boy was my first model of what a writer could be. Coming from Appalachia, in a house set way back in the woods, made it doubly so. Nice article. Thanks.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Except for my house being in a neighborhood, it sounds like we may have had similar childhoods. Thanks for commenting!

      Delete
  3. This year my mind is flooded with memories of my dad, seeing as it's our first Christmas without him. Little things (that were really the big things) come racing back every day; homemade hot chocolate, listening to him mutter and grumble on the porch because we kids picked the biggest tree possible and the trunk wouldn't fit in the tree stand, and sitting on his shoulders to put the angel on top of the tree. I can't get that last one out of my head lately. But two of the memories I'm happiest I was able to make were the years that we got to take care of him for a change.
    My parents' house is old and drafty, and nearly impossible to heat without breaking the bank, so it's important to dress warmly. However, my dad took care of everyone else before himself, so a lot of his clothes had holes and thin patches from age. Dad had two things that he had worn nearly every (cold) day since the 80s; a blue bathrobe that had once been heavy and plush, but was now sheer in some spots, and a black faux leather coat that had originally belonged to his uncle. Both were falling apart by the 2000s.
    I found the perfect replacement for his robe a few years ago at Nordstrom in Columbus, and he beamed when he opened the parcel that Christmas Eve (because I couldn't stand to wait any longer.) My dad always preferred practical gifts.
    Gifting his coat is a bittersweet memory now. I had the idea to replace his ragged out jacket last year, and got my siblings to chip in some money so it could be an "all of us" gift. For Dad's final Christmas, we gave him his brand new coat with a note in the pocket thanking him for all he sacrificed for his family, stating that we wanted to help take care of him now, and that hopefully this gift would keep him warm for years to come. It only got to keep him warm for three months before we lost him, but he kept the note in his pocket the whole time. Again, the little things are the big things.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That was hard to read through the tears. Such a beautiful tribute to your dad. I love you Cas. So much.

      Delete
  4. I remember growing up, I would sneak a peek and careful open a corner of the Christmas wrapped gifts. On the morning of opening them, I would act so surprised, even after already knowing what I was given. I felt so bad, and knew if Santa WAS real, that he would know what I did and I for sure, would never get anything ever again. Turned out, no one ever knew my little secret, and so it was; I slowly figured out the act of Christmas and the giving of presents.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I did that with one present once, but I found it so ruined the surprise that I never did it again.

      Delete
  5. I remember growing up, I would sneak a peek and careful open a corner of the Christmas wrapped gifts. On the morning of opening them, I would act so surprised, even after already knowing what I was given. I felt so bad, and knew if Santa WAS real, that he would know what I did and I for sure, would never get anything ever again. Turned out, no one ever knew my little secret, and so it was; I slowly figured out the act of Christmas and the giving of presents.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Joe, love your story. I used the Big Chief tablet. Not sure where Mom got it. She usually speed at Murphey's or, Sears. But she may have gotten them in Pomeroy. I think my record player was one of my greatest gifts. Thanks for the memories Cher'ley Grogg

    ReplyDelete
  7. Joe, love your story. I used the Big Chief tablet. Not sure where Mom got it. She usually speed at Murphey's or, Sears. But she may have gotten them in Pomeroy. I think my record player was one of my greatest gifts. Thanks for the memories Cher'ley Grogg

    ReplyDelete
  8. I looked at Murphy's and Sears both, but they never had them. Thank you!

    ReplyDelete