A Christmas story (12/05/99)
By V.J. Smith
A few nights ago I watched the movie, "A Christmas Story." It's a story about a little boy who wanted a BB gun for Christmas. Everyone told him that he "would shoot his eye out." As it turned out, he got his gun and almost lost an eye. He was saved by his poor eyesight when a BB that ricocheted off his target was stopped by the lens of his eyeglasses.
The movie is set in the 1950s and it was fun to watch the sights and sounds that took me back to when I was young. The movie had a special meaning for me because I was that little boy who wanted a BB gun for Christmas.
I was 7 years old. Every day after school I would go to the Ben Franklin store and would stand and stare at that beautiful metallic Daisy BB gun with the plastic stock. My hope was that Santa Claus wasn't an early advocate of gun control.
My mother and father disagreed on the issue of whether I should have a BB gun. My mother was against it. When she was young she had been shot in the eye by a BB gun. Some youngster in her neighborhood with either a very bad aim or a sadistic disposition had nailed her. She told us she was forced to stay in a dark room for three weeks while her eye healed. I had heard the story a dozen times.
Well, that was a major strike against me but my luck changed a few weeks before Christmas when I pleaded my case to my parents. They were sitting at the kitchen table. My tears probably were getting to them as I watched them whisper something to each other. Then, my dad stood up and said, "I'll call Santa right now." He went over to the phone, dialed some number, then soon found himself in conversation with the unseen Mr. Claus. "Yes, he has been a good boy," dad told him. "I think he could handle the BB gun. We've decided it's okay."
In that instant I knew a Daisy BB gun with the plastic stock would be under the tree on Christmas morning. "How did you know Santa's number?" I asked my dad. "Parents know those things," came his answer.
In those days my brothers Tim and Terry joined with me and my sister, Barb, to form a group known as "The Christmas Club." We added my brother, Steve, later but we worried that he couldn't keep a secret.
The club met on a nightly basis from the first part of December until Christmas Eve. Our purpose was to make plans on how we would sneak downstairs early on Christmas morning to see what Santa had left for us.
Tim and Terry would draw a complete layout of our living room. They mapped out the locations of our furniture, the Christmas tree, etc. Then they would draw little footprints to show the paths we were expected to follow. We did trial runs to make sure we had our plans synchronized. They were the generals and we needed to follow orders. In reality, the plans were never followed.
I remember one Christmas morning when I thought both my parents were already in bed. It was around 3:30 am. I was searching in the dark living room to see the new toys. All of a sudden the bathroom door flew open. I jumped behind the Lazyboy rocker. My mother came out of the bathroom and headed for her bedroom, which meant she had to walk through the living room. She wasn't wearing her glasses or anything on her feet and the next thing I knew she doing the hot dance.
Mom, not being able to see, was stepping barefoot on the hard plastic cowboys and Indians of Stevie's new Fort Apache set. She let out a string of cuss words that would have embarrassed a lumberjack. I didn't laugh or I would have given away my position and for that I would have had to answer to the generals.
Of course Christmas day was the culmination of a lot of things associated with the holiday season. Perhaps the Christmas programs, both church and school, helped heighten our anticipation for that magical moment. Early in December our class teachers introduced us to new songs. As we got older "Jingle Bells" was out and "Silver Bells" was in. Every day we would practice singing in our classrooms until all the classes were brought together in the gymnasium for one final run through.
Then, on a cold and dark December night, all the grade school kids would put on their good clothes and head for the annual Christmas program. The gymnasium was filled with parents, grandparents, and it seemed like everyone else from town. The audience was treated to "Here Comes Santa Claus," and "The Twelve Days of Christmas," and "All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth," and of course, "Silent Night."
At the end of the program, the people in the audience were asked to join the kids in singing, "Joy to the World." So everyone would stand and with the young kids taking the lead, the air was filled with, "Joy to the world, the Lord has come, let earth receive her king?"
Then, we would put on our coats, join up with our families, and walk into the cold winter night. Our hearts were filled with the love and warmth of the season.
Yes, God bless us, everyone.
(V.J. Smith grew up in Eureka with seven brothers and sisters. He graduated from EHS in 1973 and from South Dakota State University. Today he lives in Brookings, S.D., and is director of alumni at SDSU. You can email him at vj@foundation.sdstate.edu)