My sisters and I jumped on a plane, my brother got emergency leave and we all headed home. We all made it home to be with Mom and the many relatives and friends that gathered to say goodbye to Dad. Five days after Dad passed, his father, my grandfather, passed away. We had Dad's funeral one day, Grandpa's the next. A bittersweet Christmas.
Growing up, I was aware that Mom and Dad were children of the Depression. Mom was raised on a family farm that was modestly prosperous, so there was enough food, a warm house and the stability that comes with a large extended family. Dad was one of 8 kids, and lived in poverty. The family moved from time to time, from farm to farm, and my Grandparents eked out a marginal existence. The kids were expected to contribute as early as they could to the family survival. Dad left school somewhere in the 8th grade, and worked every day for the rest of his life. Christmas was nearly non existent, often the only cheer for the kids were gifts from relatives, particularly an Aunt who would bring food to the family and simple gifts to the children. Christmas joy would be in the form of a pencil, an apple, some candy. This was the stark reality they lived in. Dad would only sparingly tell me of these things, and he never complained about it. Mom would tell me these stories too, and tell me that Dad never really had a Christmas with gifts under the tree until he was much older, as a married man with his own family. As a kid myself I would have mixed feelings about this, feeling sorry for my dad for the many spare Christmases he experienced, and perhaps a little guilt over the comparatively lavish gifts I received over the years.
These memories later prompted me to get Dad something different for Christmas one year. I was now a young man with a job, so I had some money to spend. Not much, but my resources were now beyond that of a kid. So I bought Dad an electric train set. Getting this for Dad was somewhat of a leap for me, I was not sure how he would react to this. A man in his late 50s getting a train set. But after all, this is the late 70s and we are all now enlightened, so what the hell. It was a simple set, an engine, a few cars, a caboose and an oval track. But it was a real electric train.
I remember when Dad opened the gift. As he used to say, he got a real 'charge' out of the train set. I assumed he would probably set it up once in awhile, run it for the grandchildren, and that would be that. I was in for a surprise. Upon opening the present, he immediately found a room to setup the train, and played or 'monkeyed' around with the train all Christmas Eve, with me, my brothers in law, and my nieces and nephew. He liked it. He really did. Later, he built a wooden box with hinges and a hasp. He took the train set with him wherever he traveled, even to the campground he and Mom were caretakers for in the summer. There was a pavilion there with an electric outlet, and he would set it up on the cement floor to entertain guests and campers.
I still have that wooden box and the train set it holds. I haven't taken it out in years, but I have dreams of setting it up again, and maybe handing it down to a grandson some year, although I am in no hurry to be a grandparent. And maybe then I will tell that child about another kid, who was raised in poverty, worked with his hands his whole life, witnessed the horrors of war, and yet could still find joy in finding a toy under the Christmas Tree. Maybe that is the Joy of Christmas we hear about so often.
Happy Birthday Dad. Merry Christmas everyone.
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