Looking back at ‘A Christmas to Remember’

By Harry “Cuz” Bagley

Cherokee Scout

For several weeks, folks have been asking if I’m expecting a Big Christmas. I tell them all the same thing, “No, I’m not. I’m just hoping for a happy one.”

Somehow I’m satisfied at Christmastime if the folks are all well and we can spend it together.

You see, along about this time every year I can’t help but remember one particular Christmas that I had many, many years ago. That one came when I was 12 and it completely changes my outlook on every one since that date.

Those were the years of the Great Depression, and the hardship we knew during those years made an indelible impression on many a youngster, including me. We were fortunate in that we lived on a big farm where we were able to raise an abundance of good substantial food.

It did get kinda course, now and then, but we never went hungry. I guessed our biggest problem back then was keeping clothes that fit to wear among folks. I recon every young’un generally has one certain, particular thing which was shown a picture of a pair like I wanted.

And every afternoon on my way home from school I would pass a store that had a pair exactly like my dream boots in the window. I am sure I wanted those boots more than anything I had ever heard of before. And

I never overlooked an opportunity to haul that tattered page from the catalog out of my pocket to discuss with Mama and Papa the wonderful merits of a pair of boots like they were.

When I’d ask if they thought, maybe, I would get them, they would invariable say “I hope so,” or “We’ll see.” I thought that I could never get their enthusiasm to equal mine. And it just seemed to me that I wanted those boots so badly that it would be criminal, almost, if I didn’t get them. Finally the great day arrived, and I’m sure I heard the first rooster crow that morning. I made a bee-line for the Christmas tree. It took just a split-second to realize there were no boots under the tree.

Mama and Papa had both met me in there, and Mama had tears running down her cheeks. And Papa looked as if he, too, could have shed a few tears without half trying. My disappointment was enormous, but I’m sure it was nothing to compare with theirs.

Mama put her arms around me and cried so hard and Papa came over and patted me on the shoulder and said, “Son, we sure wanted to get you those boots, but we just couldn’t do it.” Then Mama tried to explain about Evelyn not having any shoes, and about how my having a pretty good pair of brogans.

Then she went on to tell me, trying to cheer me up, about Papa getting us a sack of flour and some chocolate and she said, “I’m going to bake us one of the biggest and the best chocolate cakes for dinner today that you ever saw, and we’re gonna have biscuits, too.”

But I really wasn’t interested in anything to eat any. I didn’t hang around to see my little sister open the box that had her brand new shoes inside. Nor was I interested in the new top or the little bitty sack of marbles with my Mama called and said, “Son, don’t be late for dinner.”

When I got back home,  Mama told me to hurry and wash up so we could eat. She also told me that Buddy Larkin was gonna eat Christmas dinner with us. Buddy was the son of a neighbor who lived down the road a piece.

When we all got to our places, sat down, and bowed our heads, Papa began listing the things that the Lord had done for us all. And, finally, he said, “and Lord, I want to thank you for Mama here, and these children, and ask you one more favor- Will you please, Lord, help me figure out some way to get a pair of boots?”

Papa had a little more to talk to the Lord about, but you didn’t hear what it was. I was sobbing.

When I had sat down and began listening to Papa’s prayer, I had thought about little buddy Larkin sitting beside me. His mama had died just a few weeks before, and I remembered that his Papa sometimes stayed away from home for several days at the time. And long before Papa said a word to the Lord about the boots that I hadn’t gotten for Christmas, I was breaking to piece inside.

As soon as Papa said, “Amen,” I got up hand hugged his neck and wept. Then I went Mama and did the same thing. And I tried to tell them both how much they meant to me and just how unimportant that the boots really were.

I’ve never eaten a better Christmas dinner than Mama fixed the day, and I’ve never seen as many tears shed as we all did.

The late Harry “Cuz” Bagley of Murphy wrote a column for the Cherokee Scout for many years.