It's 1973. UPDATE - 1974 - Thanks Wendy!
My Dad, suffering a recent knee injury, is laying on what can loosely be referred to as a couch in his underwear. He is cradling a homemade cane, made of two dowel sticks, one notched and secured to the other with a drywall screw. The couch is more like a love seat, in furniture vernacular, and it is a poly-cotton blend died maroon, worn slick on the arm rests by years of use by men with large, dirty and worn hands.
Our single wide is located off Highway 82, directly across from the main drag in Basalt, Colorado, nestled in what was once a river bed called the Pan and Fork Trailer Park. Catchy.
It's home to me. I enter that place via my Uncle Dennis' handiwork with a welder and angle iron worked into a stair case. Morse N' Knudsen Trucking has been good to us and my Dad's job turning wrenches on their hill trucks for the mine has paid well.
We just bought a Ford Gran Torino station wagon - Rust Brown - my Dad's proud that he doesn't have to borrow the red Dodge sedan from my Uncle anymore. The Torino is now parked in the front gravel drive, blanketed in a mix of snow and oak leaves.
We are ensconced in brown paneling and brown carpet butted up against gold and yellow linoleum, the smell of pine in the room, and the anticipation of making our way to Center Creek to see Grandpa and Grandma Sharp hangs in the air. Its mingled expertly with the sense that Santa had just been at my house, my senses are alert.
I'm in the living room, sporting a set of footie pajamas, second hand from my cousin and best friend Dave - guy has it together to this day. See me astride my Big Wheel? Notice my grin? What you probably don't see is my Evel Knievel Electric Toothbrush. It's in the bathroom, plugged in and rarin' to go. I've used it a couple of times already, contrary to my father's warnings about burning out the motor. I mean, what does Dad really know? Santa made it and brought it, so nothing can happen to it.
My sister Wendy is cramping my style, that is to say the style of a 5 year old, and begging for a ride down the single-wide halls of our home. I oblige. Who wouldn't? It's a Big Wheel, and she's not allowed to use my new toothbrush - she doesn't have any teeth! I move the seat back so as to allow more room. Adjustable seat!
A Big Wheel. Evel Knievel. It doesn't get any better.
Best Christmas I had as a child.
What's yours? Write it down and share it with those you love. They need to hear it!
Christmas is Brilliant!
9 comments:
brother sharp thats really cool! i wish i had an evil knievel toothbrush :D
my big wheel was pink with roses. One SWEET ride. Wish I still had it.
Christmas is brilliant. Thanks for sharing your memories. I will never forget the magic of Christmas growing up. The circumstance not always the best but there was always enough if not more. Brittney will testify that to this day I still believe in Santa.
Musta been Christmas 1974, if I was there, 'cause I was born in March of '74. ;-)
I don't think I've had my best Christmas yet (though I have had so many wonderful ones). Maybe next year when Naomi hopefully comes home?
Love ya!
It's best Christmas as a child...but that's okay Wendy. Thanks for the heads up.
I loved the Christmas when mom forgot to buy me and wendy presents :)
since you posted this I've been thinking hard for a Christmas memory. I can't remember a single one. The only thing I've got is a picture of me running toward the tree with my hair flying behind me. And the only reason I remember that is because I have the picture. Makes me sad. Guess there really wasn't life before Andy.
I figure I was still a child at 17 so here goes:
My little brother had been dreaming of his very own drum set for a few months. He constantly talked about his dream of a pearl white set sitting in his room that he knew was his. I had been teaching him how to play that year and he had been borrowing a ragged set form the drummer of the band I was in. My mother and I got together and discussed his desire for a set and found that we did not have the money to get him one. We had to take other paths, so we turned to my dad. It was a rare occasion for my mother to consider asking my dad for assistance after the divorce, even if we all still spent Christmas together.
Christmas day came and we sat around the living room, having endured our fathers talk on how lucky we were as children to live with what we had, even though we were still poor. The gifts were handed out and we all got our one big gift along with the mandatory socks and various other gifts. In the end there was no big box with a drum set for my little brother, no boxes left at all under the tree. We all started to pack our loot to head off to our rooms. Dan went to his room first, happy to have what he did. His "big" gift was a leather jacket. After he took off we let him sit up in his room for a few minutes. My mother was giddy and I think I even saw a grin pass my dads face as we pulled out from under the couch a small box big enough to hold one shoe, heavy enough to be a dozen shoes. I ran to the stairs calling him down letting him know we found one under the couch with his name on it. He came after a few moments, thinking it was unimportant since he had got his "big" gift. We all gathered around him as he did the customary guessing what the gift was. Jokingly he did his usual guess as something lavish, all the while confused that it was as heavy as it was. The box opened to reveal a foot pedal. His eyes teared up along with everyone in the room. My chest filled with a burning love and happiness as I could see the joy he had in what he had received. We joked with him that that was all we could afford, and he was fine with it, so we took him down to the basement so he could haul the rest of his set up to his room. He was crying the just about the whole time with small bursts of laughter in between.
That was embedded in my mind forever, that was my best Christmas.
Best childhood Christmas . . . has to be the year I got a whole wardrobe of beautiful Barbie clothes. I was so impressed that they were made out of the same material our mom used to make our clothing. Every tiny dress and blouse was so perfectly stitched. Santa was so smart! Actually, every Chritmas as a child was amazing for me - bicycle one year, a doll with black hair, a vacu-form when I was in the 3rd grade - oh I wanted that sooooo bad! When we were very young, my sister got a beautiful special order hand-made viola. I think she was 13 at the time. I don't know how my parents ever did that kind of stuff. They were so very frugal, and always lived within their means. Never went into debt for anything. Homemade clothes, home grown and home canned food. I did not know what store bought bread was. Even ate venison that my dad hunted every year. The thing that made Christmas fun was that my favorite uncle (Uncle Claude) was there almost every year. He was a bachelor and he really doted on us kids. He gave generous presents and taught me to play checkers. He would never let me win - I had to earn it by out-foxing him. I do the same thing with my grandkids and always think of him. My folks always made sure that we put together a Christmas box for someone in need. That was just part of our traditions. We loved it. I loved putting tinsel on the tree, too. I loved the fire in the fireplace and the smell of the tree. Makes me dizzy just remembering these wondrous things. thanks for prompting this trip down memory lane.
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