| Gift
of a Family Christmas |
| It was Christmas morning, 1955. I was 12 years old and my
three brothers and I waited at the top of the stairs, our
eyes reflecting the tree lights that my father had recently
turned on. We had been awake for a long time, the four of
us waiting for the sun to rise over the snowy, cold Michigan
landscape while huddling in my oldest brother's bed, anticipating
what was to come. |
| The upstairs of our house, where the boys all slept, had
no heat except for a grated hole in the hallway floor through
which little, precious heat could flow. But who could be cold
at Christmastime when everything was so warm? |
| The bubble lights on the tree were already warm enough to
bubble. Homemade cranberry ropes and popcorn balls decorated
the tree, and the silver tinsel gently glittered in a draft
caused by the coal-fired furnace getting ready to heat the
day. |
| One entire end of the living room was filled with presents,
having long ago outgrown the space under the tree. We knew,
after many Christmases with our parents, that most of those
gifts were socks, underwear and mittens. My mother had this
habit of wrapping up everything she never bought us through
the year. Anything she could wrap ended up under the tree.
Underwear, she thought, made great gifts. At least she knew
we would use them. |
| I smelled the coffee and could hear the low voices of my
dad, my mom and my grandma talking in the kitchen. My grandma
had lived with us since my grandfather died in 1948. She was
80 years old and lived with us until she died at 101. |
| There was a swinging door between the kitchen and the dining
room, through which you reached the living room, where the
Christmas morning ritual was about to begin. My pajama-clad
dad was the first through the door. His big, lumbering body
pushed away the swinging door through which my mom and grandma
followed. |
| They all moved to the Christmas room, put down their cups
of coffee, rearranged some of the gifts, and called out, "Boys!
It's Christmas morning." |
| Like we didn't know it. We were downstairs in a flash, but
had to stop short of the Christmas room for another of our
long-practiced traditions. We had to sing this song first,
known only by Greins around the world. The boys all lined
up in a row, the shortest one first, and next tallest second.
In our case, height equaled age, except for me in a wheelchair.
They let me go first. |
| Which brings me to the point of this Christmas story, which
would be one of my best Christmases ever. |
| I had missed the last Christmas and a couple of years at
home because of my rehabilitation from polio. But this year
I received a reprieveäI sort of escaped from the hospital,
a full 120 miles from my home, for a two-week Christmas vacation.
I would have to go back after New Year's. |
| That was gift enough for me, being back home with my three
brothers, dad, mom and grandma. What else could anyone ever
want, or need? |
| But I was a needy sort of kid, and wanted some stuff other
than underwear and mittens. Mittens didn't come in very handy
at a hospital anyway. |
| All I really wanted was that two weeks at home and a Master
Global Stamp Album. I knew I'd never get one. It was too expensive,
too unnecessary and way too "special" for a kid my family
tried to keep from feeling special. |
| Tough love. |
| We waded through piles of socks and undershirts, oranges
and nuts, small trucks and tractors, board games, Tinkertoys,
books, and four masks so we could all look like the Lone Ranger. |
| It was all so wonderful, so warm, so familiar, so special
to me. I wasn't sure how my three brothers were taking all
this underwear stuff, but to me it was homecoming, the chance
to relive a life I hadn't lived for a couple of years. |
| We all received one special gift, of course, something we
couldn't wear or didn't need to share. Time has blotted out
the memory of what my brothers received that 1955 Christmas,
but time will never let me forget what I received. |
| This needy little kid, whom my family tried so hard to treat
equally, without special favors, without regard to his handicap,
got his Master Global Stamp Album. |
| I remember sitting there, hugging it like a Teddy bear,
aware that it must have been a great sacrifice for my parents,
not so much in money, but in the necessity to treat me like
their other sons. |
| My brothers, my dad and mom, my grandma, smiled at me. They,
as I, knew that in another week I'd be leaving home again.
But this time I'd have my Master Global Stamp Album to take
along. |
| Christmases come, Christmases go. But Christmas 1955 will
be with me always. It was that kind of year. |
| And that's Our Town this week. |
