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MY CHRISTMAS MEMORY

© Bertha Sutliff

Every Christmas that I can remember in my 54 years on this earth has been special to me. I can tell you story after story about Christmases that my family has celebrated in one fashion or another. This memory was not a memory of celebration, but a memory of a little boy that didn't get what he wanted for Christmas.

In the mountains and rural areas of Arkansas, children didn't run next door to play with a neighbor child. Sometimes children lived miles apart so they learned to play with brothers and sisters if there were any or they used their imaginations and made playhouses out of stones, and forts out of saplings tied together with vines or bailing twine found left in the pastures.

My brother and I were the only two young children on Sandridge. There were older children but none our age and even if there had been, we lived too far apart for our parents to let us just walk over to their house. We learned to play by ourselves and invent games and make believe.

Mike had turned four that summer of 1952. I was two years older, six to be exact. Our neighbors were scattered far apart. Seldom did we get to play with other children our age. I started school that fall and Mike was left at home to play alone.

One afternoon, I stepped off the school bus to see Mike holding one of my dolls. I asked Mama why he was playing with my doll. She explained that he was lonely and the doll had become his playmate. Mama and Daddy encouraged him to leave the doll and play with his trucks and little tools Daddy had given him. Mike adjusted and relished the extra attention he was receiving from our parents.

We were not rich by any means. Daddy raised almost everything we put into our mouths. Mama made most of everything we wore. Toys were received from Santa at Christmas and played with all year till the next Christmas. We each would receive a toy or two from the mythical Santa on Christmas morning. They would usually be what we had wished for most if it was within range of what Daddy could afford on a dirt farmer's income.

One evening the conversation turned to what Mike and I wanted for Christmas. Mike spoke up first and informed a surprised set of parents that he wanted a doll. Not just any doll but a boy doll, one with short hair and overalls. His name would be Bobby. That was all he wanted. Mama chuckled under her breath and Daddy shook his head.