Learning sentimental value of a cherished gift

When I was 4 years old I knew exactly what I wanted for Christmas and it was not a doll. I wanted my daddy to buy me a train. It would have a red engine and my little dolls would ride in the boxcars where they would see all the sights.

My mother tried to discourage the idea about a train.

She said, “Stop that silly nonsense.”

We were in the living room at home and since I had become good at arguing, mother and I were having a time of it. My sister, Jeannie, at the age of 5, suddenly poked her head in the door, skipped over to the Christmas tree and hid behind it. Mother didn’t notice her since she was still arguing with me.

I tried to whisper, “Mom, Jeannie is stealing a doll under the tree! Look, look!” Mother said, “Don’t be silly. Jeannie wouldn’t do such a thing. Now listen to me.”

As she spoke my sister grabbed the doll and slipped out the door.

“She did it!” I cried. Mother stood, arms on her hips and said, “Lue, go up to your room and think about what I told you. You’re going shopping with me in about 10 minutes.” I smiled, “Can we look at trains?” Mother’s answer was an abrupt, “No.”

Out we went, into one store after another. I kept my hands in my pockets and secretly counted the Santas. I watched mother make a point of saying hello to each one.

Then she showed me the beautiful dolls and asked me, “Wouldn’t you like to have this one?” When you spend so much time with grownups, you begin to sound like one. My answer was as abrupt as mother’s was, “No.”

I had an idea, “Hey mom, Santa Claus has 14 brothers. Look! Let’s take him home and maybe his brothers could come too.”

I could tell Mom’s temperature was climbing the impatient pole. “Lue, where did you get that notion? Now calm down. We’d better go home. It’s almost dinner time.” I don’t know about mom staying calm, but I certainly wasn’t.

After arriving home, mom took my arm and sat me down at the table, “Lue, when I was your age my dad and mother couldn’t get me even one present. They didn’t have any money to buy or make anything for me. I cried because my own mother had to knit and sew a rag together to make a poor-looking doll. I wasn’t crying because the doll was so raggedy, but because my mother tried to make it nice for me.”

I put my arms around my mother, “Oh, Mom, I love you.” I knew the tears were running down my own cheeks.

Dad got up from his chair, “Lue, we can give you most anything you want and if you really want a train, your mother wants to know if you will let her doll ride your train.”

Now I was really crying, hugging my dad and mom, “Yes, yes, anytime. Oh yes.”

The 14 Santas never made it to our house and faded away. Sister Jeannie’s doll, still wrapped, settled under the Christmas tree without a sound.

Luella Dow is a Cheney-area author. She can be reached at [email protected].