A Christmas Tale

As another year comes to a close, we begin to focus on the events, and the atmosphere, of the holiday season. Certainly, the holidays can be hectic – stressful even. It is important, however, that we always try to overlook those aspects of the season, and focus instead, on the more joyful things – especially, how we look forward to time spent with friends and family, in celebration of the season.

Understandably, our thoughts may turn to holiday seasons of the past, and to happy times spent with some loved ones, who are no longer with us. This time of year can bring both joy and sorrow. Sorrow - for the family members who have passed away, and who no longer share our lives. Joy - for the times we were privileged to spend with them, while they were here. No doubt, it can be a mixed bag.

One afternoon a few years ago, while mowing the lawn, I caught myself humming an old song about wanting a hippopotamus for Christmas. When I realized what I was doing, and how preposterous it was, I tried to work out where that song had come from, and why it had stuck in my head on that particular day. It took me several hours to figure it out, but finally, I remembered a time in Middle School – they called it Junior High School then - when I, unknowingly, sent my poor Mom on a wild goose chase at Christmas time.

It was a few days after Thanksgiving. It had snowed, and as I came in the back door from scooping walks, my Mom was sitting at the kitchen table. I was too young to get a job yet, so I earned money to help out by mowing lawns in the summer, and scooping walks in the winter. As I shook the snow off my coat, and pulled off my boots, she asked me to sit down with her.

Now, to be clear, she had “requested” that I sit down - not “told” me to sit down - and she hadn’t called me “Mr. Powell” - which was always a sure sign that I was in trouble - but I still, clearly, felt that uneasy feeling of being in trouble. The problem was, I couldn’t recall what I had done to be in trouble. That’s not good - and generally means, one is spending way too much time doing stuff, one should not be doing. So, as I sat down at the table, I felt no small degree of trepidation.

Imagine my surprise, when she asked me what I wanted for Christmas. Whew, relief! I told her I would be happy with anything she got me. Her look became steely, and she told me that she knew, full well, that wasn’t true. Ooh! - that feeling again. How quickly situations change.

She told me that she always thought she could come up with good gift ideas for her kids - and that it was true for all them, except me. I began to argue with her, but quickly realized that I had to admit - my gifts were always the only ones to ever be returned, and to be exchanged for something else. Right then and there, I made a promise to myself, that I would never, ever again, return a gift from Mom.

(As it turned out, my resolve was severely tested, just a few weeks later, when for my birthday, she gave me a pair of black patent leather figure skates. I did not at the time, and I do not now, know how to skate. Moreover, even at the tender age of thirteen, I was way too macho for black patent leather. I never used those skates, but I kept them until I moved away from home. I thought about giving them away, however, I was certain that I didn’t know anyone who would ever want them. Eventually, they were binned behind the auto parts store, where I was working part-time my Freshman year at college. Sorry, Mom.)

My friend, Kevin, who lived next door, and was a year younger than me, had always been my partner in the mowing and scooping enterprise. That night I had noticed that he had been wearing a really cool sweater, as we were out scooping walks, and the thought caused me to tell my Mom that I wanted a white “Stud Sweater” for Christmas.

A week or so later, Mom was again asking me what I wanted for Christmas. My Mom raised four kids – by herself - and I knew that money for her was always really tight. I quickly surmised that the Stud Sweater must have been too expensive. I told her that I really didn’t need anything for Christmas; that I hadn’t been a believer in Santa Clause for many years; and that she should spend her money on the kids - meaning my younger siblings.

(I don’t know why we always referred to them as “the kids.” They were only a few years younger than my older sister and me, however, they were always considered as “kids” - while my older sister and I were not.)

Anyway, I didn’t say anything about the Stud Sweater, because I didn’t want her to have to admit that she couldn’t afford it. Also, I really didn’t want to embarrass her, or to make her feel uncomfortable. So, as I turned and walked away, I began singing:

“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.

Only a hippopotamus will do.”

With my back to her, I couldn’t see her reaction, but I could hear her laughter - and that was fine, because that was all I was really after, anyway.

(This is the wild goose chase part of the story. I know you’ve been wondering if we would ever get to it.)

On Christmas morning, there was, indeed, a box for me under the tree, and to my joy, it contained a very nice white Stud Sweater. I looked up to see Mom, very intently, watching me. I thanked her, and told her that I loved the sweater very much.

She looked very relieved, and proceeded to tell how she had walked all over several shopping malls, looking in every store for a “Stud Sweater”. No one had the slightest idea what she was talking about. Finally, she had encountered a teenage girl working at Fashion Bar, and in exasperation, had told the girl that all she wanted was to buy her son a Stud Sweater for Christmas, but that no one seemed to know what that was. The girl asked what size, and handed Mom a white cable knit sweater, with a mock turtleneck. Perfect!

Hey! I was just thirteen years old. How was I supposed to know that “Stud Sweater” was a 1970’s slang term for a cable knit sweater? Before that day, I hadn’t even heard the term “cable nit”, let alone what it meant.

I felt terrible. What could I do. Unintentionally, I had sent her on a ridiculous quest - that had proven to be a giant pain in her neck. And yet, she had not wanted to let me down, by not coming up with the one thing I had asked for as a gift. Moreover, she had spent an inordinate amount of her valuable time, trying to accomplish the task.

All I could do, was to tell her that I was grateful for the perfect gift - and that I loved her.

I don’t know why that memory suddenly came to me - that day in the yard. Maybe, it was to tell me that she was thinking of me. Or, maybe it was just my mind - reminding me, that I still miss her. In any event, the memory made me smile for a minute, and it left its mark on my thoughts for some time to come.

It has been many years now, since I last spent a Christmas with my Mom. And, while I always look forward to the holidays, I know that the season will bring with it a tinge of sorrow. To make that sorrow fade, I have formed a habit of playing that old song – first thing in the morning on Christmas Day. It always brings back this memory – and makes me smile.