As it is with most people, the Christmas season brings back a flood of memories. This week and next, I’m going to share a couple of those with you. The first is the story of a young boy and the second (which will run next week) a tale of a “crazy” teenager too much “in love” to have even a pocket full of sense.
When I was six years old, my father, mother, and I moved to Louisville, the county seat of Winston County. My dad, who fancied himself to be a preacher from time to time, had been voted in as pastor of the Assembly of God church there.
The church didn’t have a parsonage, but it did have a kitchen and a couple other rooms in the back of the church, so that is where we lived. That in itself opens the door to some odd situations.
When we first arrived, there wasn’t a bathtub in the bathroom, which was available for use to anyone attending the church who had a need for such a facility. But there was a tub, a big round washtub that is, that we used to keep ourselves fairly clean and presentable.
The kitchen, which was at the back right of the church, doubled as a Sunday school room, while the room in the middle was my parents’ bedroom.
The room at the back left had a trio of duties — it was the living room, my bedroom, and a Sunday school room. I distinctly remember being sick one Sunday morning and attending Sunday School while in bed sick.
I guess we didn’t have much, but I never really noticed. I was six, and the church was located in a great place as far as I was concerned. On one side of it was the National Guard Armory and behind it was the city barn where they kept the road graders, dump trucks, and such. What more could a 6-year-old boy want?
Well, there was one thing I really wanted, and this leads us down the path of my Christmas story.
My father worked at Blon Harris Hardware on Main Street and for the first few months walked back and forth to work because we didn’t have much of a car. We also didn’t have a television. But somehow, I must have seen one somewhere because much like Ralphie’s Red Ryder BB gun from “The Christmas Story” movie I saw an advertisement about a magnificent toy I just “had to have.”
It was “The Mighty Matilda” aircraft carrier. It had planes and soldiers and even wheels on the bottom so it could move around. I just had to have it.
I knew for an absolute fact my parents couldn’t afford it, so I went straight to the man — Santa Claus. With my order sent to the North Pole, all I had left to do was wait.
Let’s just say that I was never a very good “waiter,” especially when it comes to Christmas. Over the years, I would routinely wake up at 2 or 3 in the morning ready to see what Santa had brought. Being a very nice and sweet child, I would always dutifully wake up my parents first so they wouldn’t miss anything.
Christmas Eve of 1964 was the day I nearly saw Santa face to face, and I’m not talking about at a department store, we’re talking right smack dab in the middle of our living room/Sunday school room/bedroom that you stepped right into through the front door. We didn’t have a chimney, so that was Santa’s best way into the house.
It was almost unbearable for me, and my parents as well I’m sure, as I waited and waited for Santa to arrive. They tried everything they could to get me to go to sleep, but I just couldn’t. I was so worried that Santa would see the church when he flew over and wouldn’t know that there was a little boy in need of an aircraft carrier inside.
My parents finally convinced me to try and go to sleep in the “master” bedroom while my dad went outside to figure out a way for Santa to know there was a child in need inside.
I had gotten out of bed several times and slipped to the bedroom door to see if I could hear anything. Finally, sometime around 10 p.m., way after my bedtime had passed, I once again began to creep toward the door when it happened!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
It was the loudest noise I had ever heard. I jumped into the bed and whispered, “What was that?” My wise mother, the interpreter of all strange sounds, said, “I think Santa Claus just landed on the roof.” Of course! That had to be it!
As I laid there quietly and heard Santa Claus rustling about in the room next door, there were only two things on my mind.
I hoped that my father didn’t walk in and get tobacco spit into his eye by Santa Claus — that was a nasty first-grade rumor that had been circulating around the well-educated halls of Louisville Elementary School. And then there was my major concern, what if Santa knew I was awake and didn’t leave me my much coveted “Mighty Matilda?”
The Santa Claus I grew up with could apparently be a little vindictive.
Finally, everything got quiet and my mom said she could hear the sound of the reindeer lifting off. I couldn’t hear a thing, but that’s likely because it’s harder to hear when you are holding your breath and trying not to wet yourself at the same time.
My mom peeked out the door to make sure Santa was gone and then gave me the “all clear” signal. I raced into the living room and there floating on a sea of cotton-based fake snow was Mighty Matilda. She was beautiful.
I’m sure we fought imaginary battles until sunrise as little plastic airplanes found themselves scattered all across our small home.
I suppose I’ve gotten more elaborate and more expensive gifts over the years, but no Christmas Eve is etched into my memory more than that one.
I pray you have many fond Christmas memories as well. And if not, be determined to start making them this year.
Be blessed!
Austin Bishop, AKA The Old Sports Dude, has been covering high school, college, amateur and professional sports since 1975. He is currently pastor of Great Commission Assembly of God in Philadelphia, Miss. He may be contacted by email at starsportsboss@yahoo.com.
