It was an ordinary day. It was the mid-1940s in the mountains of East Tennessee. I was 5 that year; my sister, Charl, was 7. World War II was in full swing, and patriotism was high. We had a war to win and didn't complain that everything from sugar in coffee to shoes and tires were rationed for the war effort. But, Christmas was coming, and our spirits were high. In the mountains, everyone was poor, except we really didn't know it. Poor was a way of life. Christmas was family; we had abundant food (grown by us), church pageants, and few, if any, gifts. That year, my dad joined most of the other farmers at the aluminum plant to work, so things were looking up. That Christmas Eve, Charlie and I were kneeling by our bed, saying our prayers. Charles knew so much and had already said a beautiful prayer, but the best I could do was mimic her. "Bless our boys in service, and please keep them safe," she prayed, her hands folded and her blue eyes closed. My hands covered my face, and I peeked through my fingers to admire her serene face and her blonde curls hanging like a halo around her head. If God heard anybody's prayers, it would be hers. After Charles' "Amen," it was my turn. After my "blesses" and "thanks," I ended with, "and please have Santa bring me a doll--and Charlie too." I mumbled into my hands, "I really, really want one. And I don't care if it's not fancy." As we climbed into bed, Charles scolded me. "Remember, Mama told us not to ask for selfish things," she said wisely. "There's a war going on, and we must think of others." She blew out the kerosene lamp by the bed. "Besides," she went on, "we already have the best Christmas yet. Remember that candy Uncle Dobie brought us?" Dobie was our mother's brother, home on furlough from the Army for a few days. He had just visited us, bringing us a hugh box of chocolates, which would be opened on Christmas Day. The chocolates were a great gift for our family as candy was scarce due to the war. But even so, we always had a little from a yearly box of chocolate-covered cherries and the perpermint-stick candy that would be in our stockings on Christmas morning, along with an apple, an orange, a few nuts, and if we were lucky, a tangerine. Usually there was a small gift tucked inside too -- a little toy watch or some hair bows. Now we'd have Uncle Dobie's candy too. Still, I dreamed of a sleepy-eyed doll that could cry. Through the open door we could see our empty stockings hung on the mantel and our Christmas tree, which Daddy had gone into the woods and cut that day. We always got our tree on Christmas Eve morning, and once it was in place, Mamma would bring out her carefully saved decorations from years past. There were just a few worn store-bought ornaments; the rest were homemade. Last, Mamma would bring out her precious silver icicles that had been used over and over. New decorations made of foil were not available due to the war. I could hear Charlie breathing softly as she slept, but my thoughts were on the dolls. I was positive my prayer would be answered. I dozed off but woke with a start. I could hear movement in the living room and thought I could see a dark, figure quietly making its way through the shadows in the room. Could it be? Was it Santa? I was petrified and thrilled all at once. I lay as still as if frozen, and I closed my eyes tightly. Then, all was quiet, but I was afraid to look. I was sure it was almost dawn by then, so I shook my sister. "Charl! Charl! Santa came!" She turned over and pulled up the quilt. "Go back to sleep, Bet," she said. "Santa ain't even real." "Is too!" I returned. I was crushed, but I settled back down to wait for daylight. Somebody had to fill those stockings, and I knew it was Santa. At first light we slipped into the living room and found our stockings. We put a log on the banked fire and contentedly pulled out our goodies. Presently, Mama came into the room, sleep in her eyes and her long hair, usually worn in a victory roll, hanging loose around her shoulders. She smiled indulgently. "Did you find anything under the tree?" she asked. Like a bullet the two of us were up and by the Christmas Tree. It only took a moment to realize that hidden behind the tree were two big, beautiful dolls. They were identical except for the color of their pretty dresses. And our names were on them! It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. "Told ya Santa was here," I bragged to Charlie. She and Mamma smiled knowingly but said nothing. That had to be the happiest Christmas ever for two little country girls. The war ended, and life didn't change a lot in the mountains, but I never forgot praying for that baby doll and the joy I had when my prayer was answered. I think of that Christmas often when I see the extravagant, sophisicated gifts today's children receive. Oh, for the Good Old Days! It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.
No comments:
Post a Comment