A Christmas Disappointment

Christmas was never a big event at the Bennett house when I was younger. And for the two holidays after my father’s death it was almost non-existent. But the first Christmas after my mom and Jim Downs got married that all changed.

That Christmas morning was like a dream come true. My brother, Tony, who is three years my senior, and I had an electric race car track, a telescope, microscope, a bb gun, more toys and games than we had ever imagined in our lives. We seemed to have everything except what almost every boy dreams of…a bicycle. But we were not complaining. “Maybe you boys will each get one next year,” Big Jim told us. He was as delighted as we were. He had made his boys happy and that made him proud. He sported a big ear to ear smile.

The following year brought much change to our new secure family. Big Jim had been injured on his job. He had ridden an electric powered ladder up to hook up electricity to a sign and on the way back down one of his feet had gotten stuck in the massive gears of the ladder. His foot looked like hamburger meat. A doctor treated him but then he got an infection. For awhile it looked like he might lose his foot. But with time his foot got better.

Dad, as I was now comfortable calling Jim, was off work for some time. When he did return to work all our extra money was going to catch up on bills. Those were what we called the “beans and tater days.”

When our second Christmas as a new family rolled around our parents had explained that since things were so tight we should not expect much for Christmas. We tried to hide our disappointment but our faces betrayed us when we saw only three small packages for each of us boys on Christmas Eve. What made it worse was we could tell what the gifts were. It was shirt, a pair of pants, and a bag of underwear for each of us.

Our powers of observation were keenly honed for we had ascertained exactly what our gifts were. The only mystery was the color of the shirts. This was also a bit of a letdown when we opened them.

Mom and Dad had us pose for pictures with this little pile of opened gifts as though we had just won the lottery. They must have taken ten pictures of each of us.

Then without anymore fanfare we were instructed to take our wrapping paper out to the trash can which was located by the garage. I was on the verge of tears. I had hoped they had something up their sleeve but Christmas was obviously over…and not one toy…not one. That just didn’t seem right. Not even my mixed up little world.

We headed out the door with the few pieces of refuse in our hands. No sooner had the door shut behind my brother and me than our eyes landed on a couple of the most beautiful sights we had ever seen. Mom and dad had two beautiful, red, Firestone bicycles…complete with headlights and storage a rack on the back. We screamed like little girls. We threw our paper balls in the air and jumped around hugging each other…and then mom and dad.

I believe dad had been the inspiration behind the purchase of the two bikes. Again, I saw a big ear to ear smile on his face. He knew a secret that neither my brother nor I knew. He did not just buy us two bicycles. He bought us dreams. He bought us independence. He bought us freedom. For he knew those bicycles would actually take us to explore a world beyond our little block. He knew these two boys were about to grow up. He knew bicycles have a tendency to do that for boys.