WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME IN THE SUMMER

I love to tell stories of my childhood experiences and one of my favorite stories to tell, is of the time that my Daddy got the Christmas Spirit, in the summertime.


It was a very hot and dry summer afternoon one Friday when Daddy got home from work. Often times on Fridays after he got paid and cashed his check, he would give us kids a nickel or dime and we would walk barefoot down the gravel road that we lived on to the old country store that our family patronized. I can recall many a time where I would struggle, trying to make up my mind as to what I wanted to buy with my nickel or dime. Sometimes it would be a pack of three white snowball gumballs, or an RC or double cola sometimes it was a moon pie or some gingersnaps, but more often than not, it ended up being one of those huge lemon cookie from the old glass cookie jar that sat by the cash register. Whatever I did end up with, I am sure that it had taken a lot of thinking over before the decision was made because it was not that often that my parents had the money to spare, during those days; so the times we did get some change, believe me, we all put much thought into how we would spend it.


However, on this particular Friday afternoon, it was different. I remember on this day as Daddy got home, he was in somewhat of a hurry to leave and go somewhere else. He did not have the time to hand out our weekly allotted spending money, but was in a hurry to leave again to go some other place. How some of us kids ended up going with him, I can not recall. But I do remember going down that old gravel road with sacks of groceries in the back of our Station Wagon. For that was something that I can assure you seldom ever happened; our car having sacks of groceries in the back of it. I especially remember a ham the size of a tire sticking out of one of the sacks. I can still hear the gravel as the rocks went through the tread on the tires throwing them to the side of the road as they fell to the ground; as my Dad hurried down that old gravel road. If you grew up in the country on gravel roads you know exactly what that sound was like.


There was some discussion going on in the car, but I don’t remember it involving me. I was so intrigued with the groceries in the back, that I couldn't’t recall at the time how my Daddy came to the decision, to give someone else groceries better than what we usually got ourselves. Even though we were poor and did not have much at all, it all seemed very much, as we topped that hill and Daddy pointed to the house in which we would be stopping at.


I don’t know why I was so surprised to see this family, for neither of my parents were ever prejudice towards anyone, especially the poor. For how could anyone be prejudice against their own kind. Growing up poor gave me a great appreciation for having plenty and taught me many things that have added to who I am today. When I was very small I use to think; that people who had lots of material stuff, must be good people. But that day, I came to understand what made people great. I had so much pride in my heart for my Daddy as I saw him reaching out in a tender way, to someone who needed a helping hand. By his goodness, he not only made me feel great, but he made those that we were to visit, feel his love, worth and value as well. He gave to them what I thought we did not have to give; yet, it was not that we had it in excess ourselves, but, it was in the spirit of “forfeiture of self” to meet the needs of someone else that my Daddy gave.


As we pulled up closer to the house, there sat a big black man on the porch, in an old cane chair that once had a back. The man did not have his shirt on and across his chest was a big white bandage. I remember being a little scared at that point. But my Daddy’s reassuring voice soon gave explanation to the man’s dreaded condition. He told us that the man had a hole in his heart. One can only image how that engraved a vivid picture in my mind, as a child. I can not describe the pity in my heart upon finding out that terrible news. For I had never heard of anything like that. I could not imagine what a hole in his heart looked like except to picture a big hole in his chest behind that big white bandage that covered it. I remember praying and hoping that he would not remove the bandage while we were there and expose that huge hole in his heart.


Daddy had told us while turning in their driveway that he was a co-worker and had to have surgery and was unable to work and because he could not work, he was unable to feed his family that week; and that was why we were taking our groceries to them, so that they would have plenty to eat. For they like us, had a large family with many mouths to feed.


The only joy in my lifetime that I can compare to what I experienced and felt that day as I saw the faces of that family, was the joy that I felt when the church brought us food boxes at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I can not tell you in full everything that I learned from the benevolence of my Daddy that day, but I can say this: I know for sure that Christmas does not only come in December!


Happy Holidays!
Brenda L. Parsons