When I reflect on Christmases past, trying to determine which was best and why, I realize that my Christmases tend to be the same in many ways. There have always been Christmas trees, gifts, plenty of food, friends and relatives and I thank God for that. Yet, one Christmas stands out as being extra special.

    It was 1952. I was nine and Sister was 11. I made up my mind months before Christmas exactly what I wanted Santa to bring. It was an electric train. Sister wanted a fancy bracelet from the jewelry store.

    As the Christmas season approached that year, times got bad at our household. Several months earlier, Dad had resigned his selling job with Kellogg Cereal Co. in search of a better living with folks who turned out to be crooks. For weeks, Dad sold their goods and placed the orders, but his commission checks would never arrive. We made many trips to the Post Office only to find an empty box.

    One Saturday afternoon, just after Thanksgiving as I recall, Dad and I were at the barber shop getting our haircuts. A fellow in one of the barber chairs was talking about the Christmas tree lots he intended to open all around Winston-Salem, N.C., our hometown. He said he had hundreds of trees to sell and was looking for good, honest men to manage the lots.

    “I can do that,” my father said, and right then and there the fellow found him one good, honest man.

    “This is great,” I thought. “Dad gets a job. I’ll help him sell trees and maybe I’ll get an electric train after all.”

    Although my sister and I maintained a faith in Santa Claus, Mama and Dad had made it perfectly clear to us kids that parents still had to pay Santa at least enough to cover his expenses. In short, we knew there were no free rides, not even on a sleigh flying out of the North Pole behind eight tiny reindeer. So, the longer Dad was out of work the dimmer the electric train prospects became.

    But now, all of a sudden, there was hope. Dad’s attitude improved immediately. We went straight home and he shared the good news with Mama. That next Monday Dad went to work selling Christmas trees.

    Dad was assigned to the lot at the downtown Curb Market right next to the Big Bear Supermarket. It was a great location, especially on Saturdays. In those days everybody went to town on Saturdays and in Winston-Salem nearly everybody had some reason to go to the downtown Curb Market.

    On Saturdays and weekdays after the school holidays began, I’d go to work with Dad. He’d sell the trees and I’d sell the wreaths. The trees sold a lot better than the wreaths, but every now and then I’d sell one. I don’t remember how much they cost, but a couple of coins would cover it. I’d drop the change in the box and grab another wreath.

    “How about a wreath for Christmas, mister?” I’d shout to the shoppers passing by. “How about a wreath, mam?”

    “How about that wreath!” one man shouted back, but I ignored his heckling and kept on pushing those wreaths.

    It was bitter cold in North Carolina that Christmas, but that didn’t matter to me. From early morning until the sun went down, I’d stand on the curb hawking wreaths, and I don’t remember ever getting bored. At closing time, the man we’d met at the barber shop would come by, take inventory of the trees and the wreaths, count the cash and roll it with the rest of his money. Then Dad and I would go home.

    Finally, Christmas Eve rolled around. The tree business wasn’t too brisk that day, especially in the afternoon, but Dad and I stayed with the few remaining trees until late in the day. This was the day that Dad and the Christmas tree man were going to settle up and Dad would get his money.

    The sun had slipped behind the buildings and the Big Bear Supermarket had locked its doors. The Curb Market was empty, a sight I’d never seen before, and eventually the man arrived. He once again counted the trees and the wreaths, took the day’s receipts and peeled off several bills and handed them to Dad.

    “This is all I get for all that work?” I heard my dad ask.

    “That’s it, Howard,” the man replied. “Take it or leave it.”

    Dad was a kind and gentle man who rarely raised his voice and he didn’t this night either, but he continued to plead his case.

    “That’s not the deal we had,” Dad insisted, but his pleas did no good.

    “That’s it!” the man kept saying as he walked toward his car shaking his head.

    As a child growing up, I only saw Dad shed a tear once. It was that night. All of a sudden, even the electric train didn’t matter anymore.

    Despite all of that, Christmas Eve at home was as exciting as ever for Sister and me. We were aware of the financial problems, but it was Christmas and we were together and warm and loved and all was well from a child’s viewpoint.

    The next morning, Sister and I awoke and went straight to the tree. It was unbelievable! There under the tree was an electric train for me and a fancy bracelet for Sister. And there was Mama and Dad smiling happily, as if there were no problems in the whole wide world, although we all knew better.

    The Christmas tree man made plenty of money that Christmas, but my family realized enormous wealth in the things that really mattered. And it didn’t have anything to do with electric trains or fancy bracelets from the jewelry store. It had to do with love, and we were richly blessed.

    

Gary Boley