How a Christmas with no gifts let this man reflect on the true meaning of the holiday
There are two Christmases I remember most. They happened back-to-back when I was 8 and 9 years old. One was bleak, the other bountiful.
First, the bleak Christmas. We lived in Pittsburgh and my father worked for Westinghouse. It was a turbulent time of constant conflict between management and the unions, with the unions frequently exercising the option of going on strike. Sometimes a strike would end quickly, to our great relief, but other times it dragged on. When I was 8 years old, a strike was called that lasted many months. This meant no income and hard times.
My parents lived paycheck to paycheck and never had a rainy-day fund. They also had bad credit, which made things really tough during a prolonged strike. I well remember long nights with mom and dad sitting at the kitchen table, voices low, faces tight, searching for answers as the strike persisted. Worse, Christmas was coming, and my mother told me: "Don’t get your hopes up."
Even so, I kept pouring over a catalog with several pages of American Flyer electric trains, wishing for a miracle.
Christmas morning came and the only thing under the tree was a cardboard box a union rep had delivered to the house. There was candy, pieces of fruit, a fake plastic camera, and two knock-off Raggedy Ann dolls for my sisters.
Although I had been warned, it didn't soften the blow and I was devastated. My mother pulled me to her lap, wiped my tears, and told me: "This is what families who are very poor experience every year. They have so little and nothing to look forward to. Thankfully, we know times will get better. When? Only God knows, but for now, you must count your blessings and appreciate what you have."
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That didn't help much because I was determined to feel sorry for myself — and I did.
To make matters worse, I had a friend whose family was pretty well off. Not rich, of course, but certainly much richer than my family, and for Christmas, he got a very expensive Lionel Santa Fe diesel passenger train set, the cream of the crop. I went to his house and we set the train up on the floor in the basement, watching it go round and round in a big circle. I loved it, but he got bored and decided to fix the track so the train would run across the floor and smack into a cement wall. He said he just wanted to see what would happen.
I couldn't believe it and I tried to talk him out of it, but he ran his train into the wall over and over again, laughing, even when it broke. I was dumbfounded, especially when he shrugged and told me he'd just get another one.
Wow! That sure didn't seem fair, and it made me feel even sorrier for myself.
As I write this holiday column and reflect back on Christmas the year of the strike, I realize things really weren’t so bad. On the contrary, as Christmas approached, my mother made sure we would celebrate the holiday to the max of our ability, and we spent more time gathered as a family doing Christmas things. Each evening, we read passages from the Bible and lit a new candle before giving thanks for our dinner. Then after dinner, my mother read stories aloud about The Grinch, Frosty the Snowman, Santa, and Mrs. Claus as my sisters strung popcorn and loops of colored paper, making decorations for the Christmas tree we would get late on Christmas Eve when all the lots were closed and we could pick one up for free.
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Finally, after what seemed like forever, my father was working again. How thrilling it was the next year to get our Christmas tree early, the biggest and best we ever had.
As for me, I nagged and nagged, making sure my mother knew exactly which electric train in the catalog I wanted. On Christmas morning the floor was covered with presents, and right in front was a box with my train in it, the Silver Bullet. I was so excited I thought I might explode.
My most vivid memory is of my mother hugging me as I held my new train and asking me, "Remember how you felt last Christmas?" I sure did, and it finally made sense what she was trying to tell me a year ago. Thinking back about it now, I realize how fortunate I was to wait before eventually getting my train set because it afforded me a precious life lesson in being truly grateful.
I also realize that when I was surrounded by blessings, I ignored them because I wished things were different. Wants and desires destroyed my happiness as I focused on what I didn't have, instead of what I had. And now, so much older and wiser, my goal during this wonderful holiday season is to be alert, to look and see clearly, so that I may truly appreciate the many blessings I take for granted every day.
Have a blessed and very Merry Christmas!
Reach Bryant Stamford, a professor of kinesiology and integrative physiology at Hanover College, at stamford@hanover.edu.
This article originally appeared on Louisville Courier Journal: A Christmas with no gifts allows us to reflect on meaning of holiday
