Telling the story of a Christmas day would be like telling the story of almost any other Christmas day. I can remember them only as Christmas days, not specific to any Christmas day. Of course there were specific events that I can recall but I can’t relate them to any particular time. That said, there are a few events that stand out in my mind.

Long ago, before I had to settle down and go to school, I noticed the fall and winter Sears Roebuck catalog came in the mail. Looking through it revealed to me knowledge I could not gain elsewhere. I found Santa’s complete list of offerings in full color. Needless to say, I studied the list thoroughly, except for the girly stuff. I prepared for Christmas for what seemed like months. I remember the year I found a truck that I could ride and haul my stuff in. Early on I let it be known that I wanted Santa Claus to bring me a truck for Christmas. I failed to show my parents a picture of the truck I wanted. There was only one truck shown in Santa’s list. I thought I was all set for Christmas and Santa’s visit.

The days passed slowly as I looked forward to Santa’s visit. I kept busy much of the time looking through Santa’s list which I nearly wore out. On Christmas Eve I worried that Santa wouldn’t come because we didn’t have a chimney for him to come down. Mama assured me that they would leave the front door unlocked so that he could get in. Her assurance eased my worries enough that after a while I went to sleep.

Morning came early for me and I wasted no time in getting myself out of bed and to the Christmas tree. I looked around and around but saw nothing of my truck.

“Merry Christmas!” said Mama. 

“I can’t find my truck,” I said. 

“There’s your truck, Honey right under the tree.”

“That little thing? I can’t ride in that, or haul anything.”

“You said that you wanted a truck and Santa brought you one. You didn’t say anything about riding it.”

About then Daddy walked in and said,”Santa Claus is smarter than you thought. If he’d brought you a riding model you would have been disappointed because you don’t have a place to ride it. Look out here. You could ride only 40 feet, then there’s not room to turn around. Be happy with the sturdy cast iron job. You have a ready built road on top of the concrete retaining wall.”

We lived in the country where there were no sidewalks for kids to play on. What my daddy told me made sense and I was able to accept it, but not until after a period of disappointment. I learned a lesson from the experience; in the future I always made sure that my parents knew exactly what I wanted. My wish had blotted out reality from my mind.

When the weather warmed I took the little cast iron monster outside and tried it out on the concrete road and hauled stuff there for the next three or four years.