Sometime in the late 1960’s
when I was somewhere about 7 or 8 years old, I’d received a gift from a
relative in the days leading up to the Christmas holiday. To be honest I don’t
even remember what it was...but I do vaguely recall not expressing near enough
appreciation to satisfy my no-nonsense Depression era father. Like many of his
hard knocks generational peers, I suspect even my hard-assed dad was content to
spoil his child and spare me much of the suffering he’d experienced growing up
in rural Washington state (outside Tacoma) with next to nothing, but whatever
bellyaching I was doing that conveyed the lack of gratitude for what I’d
received had obviously been overdone in my father’s mind…and on this particular
morning in mid-December…he’d clearly had enough.
After listening to another
round of my complaining, my dad abruptly told me go into my room and empty out
my toy chest. He said I could keep three of my favorite things (there had to be
at least 30 items in there), but that all of the other less-desirable stuff
should be removed. I could tell he was not happy, but didn’t know at all why I
was being asked to remove the items. I suspect for a minute I wondered if with
Christmas just days away it was to make room for more good stuff, but I remembering
having no real clue. My parents almost never argued, but I remember hearing
them heatedly discussing something in the den as I sorted through my toys…but I
really couldn’t catch the content or pick up the meaning of their spirited
exchange.
I remember kneeling down by
the chest with the lid open, pulling out bags of little green army men, my red “hot
potato” with a timer on the back, a slinky, my Matchbox cars and some games
like Operation (I can still picture the face of the guy on the front). There
were Hot Wheels, a Wheelo, some Flippy the Frogmen, a couple of GI Joes, cowboy
cap guns, a couple of nice footballs and even an “official” plastic blue and
white Rams’ helmet like my heroes Deacon Jones and Merlin Olsen wore. There was
also this huge read and white metal Texaco gasoline truck that was so big you
could actually sit on it. I’m actually not even sure General Motors uses that
much real metal in the Cadillacs they build these days.
As I sifted through all my
toys, I remember struggling to find the best three…and the truth is this would
be a better story if I could recall what I actually chose to keep. As I was
working my through my things my father came in with some empty cardboard boxes,
and told me to pack the stuff I’d removed. As each box was filled, my father picked
them up and carried them down to our black ’65 Pontiac. Then, he told me to put
on a coat and that we’d be going for a drive. I still had no clue what was
happening, but I knew enough to know that I’d apparently screwed something up
and that asking a whole lot of questions probably wasn’t in my best interest.
My dad didn’t say much as we
drove away from the house, and I remember vividly how he drove with purpose and
having no sense that he needed any directions. As I looked out the window in
silence, it become obvious that we were headed into a neighborhood where the
homes weren’t near as nice as mine. After what seemed like about a 20 minute
drive, my dad pulled off of a main avenue and onto a residential street. As we
came up to the first house…there were some young kids (even younger than me)
playing out in the front yard of the very old and modest home. My father instructed
me to get out of the car, and he jumped out and opened the trunk. Then, to my
disbelief, he told me to remove the boxes of my toys from the trunk and give
them to the kids playing in the yard. When I hesitated, he picked up the first
box and walked over to the disbelieving children.
They were pretty tentative at
first…but within seconds, they recognized that Santa had come to town early and
began screaming with jubilation at their unplanned good fortune. Within what
seemed like seconds, several other kids streamed out of neighboring houses and my
father handed them toys as well. I distinctly remember him telling me… “go get a box…start handing them out.” When we
were done several of the parents came outside and with a mix of disbelief,
caution and genuine gratitude…offered their bewildered thanks. I remember
looking at the mother standing on the rotting wooden steps of the house where
we’d distributed the toys…holding her hands over her face with a white handkerchief
and crying. She kept mouthing the words…thank you, thank you, thank you.
When we got back to the car
my father seemed to be in a better mood. I don’t remember how long we stayed
there, but I do recall that he didn’t start the car immediately. He just sat
there and watched the elated kids playing with all my old stuff. Then…as he
looked out the window….he said something close to the following. “Your mother
thought it was cruel to make you give away your toys, and though it’s tough for
you to see now…you’ll probably have more stuff soon than you know what to do
with before too long. In the meantime, recognize that so much of the things you
never had time to play with are like gold to those kids that have less…so when
we get back home…see if you can’t be a little more grateful for what you do
have. I don’t want to hear any more of your complaining.”
End of story.
It’s Friday, and as we slide
into Fall and prepare for the fast-approaching holiday season, make these next few
days really count for something. Most of
us want more, but if you're reading this on something that plugs into the wall or is powered by a battery, you're probably living more comfortably than a huge part of the population that lives on less than $1.25 a day or that has never heard a dial tone. Whatever you end up doing these next few days, see if you can’t
approach the time away with a sense of gratitude for all that you actually do have.
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