Bicycle Christmas

 

Hayter for December 15, 2024

“The Christmas of ‘57”

          Next week will be a time of joy, peace, and kiddos going nuts. I only included “peace” because I needed a word to match the “joy.” It’s a writer thing. 

          I don’t know how excited today’s kiddos are, because I’m not one, nor did Kay and I have any. She grew up with two brothers and I had three brothers and three sisters. Mom and Dad were absolutely ga ga about Christmas. Uh, not really, but they had to put up a big facade for the children.

          For Kay and I, this holiday season will be one spent in the Conroe vicinity. The Hayter Family have gone to the point where each spend time with their immediate family during the holidays. I consider it sad that Kay and I don’t have an immediate family with whom to share the holidays. – Wait a minute. My sadness is now gone.

          While I do miss the olden days of Christmas gatherings, I’m ashamed to say that I never fully appreciated the work Mom did to make everything happen. Dad was responsible for getting all of the gifts out of layaway on Christmas Eve. On that night, the two of them planted themselves in the living room and wrapped our gifts. Most of my friends had gifts under the tree a week before Christmas, so they had the opportunity to shake the boxes and guess at what they got. Some even peeped behind the wrapping. That is so juvenile.

          The Hayter kids didn’t have a clue as to what we got until we heard Mom or Dad yell, “Okay, y’all can come down now!” I’ve told this story before but bear with me. My favorite Christmas was the one when I was eight years old and we lived on Pinewood Lane. Dennis and I asked for bicycles. -- “Dad you don’t hafta get us anything else but a bicycle.” Each year, Daddy had to solve a major financial situation. He worked shift work at the refinery and took on other jobs in the mornings or evenings.

          Well, when Dad called us all to come to the living room on Christmas morning, right off the bat Dennis and I noticed that there was nothing near the tree that resembled wrapped bicycles. We each got Fanner 50s and a couple of cheap toys.

          When there were no more gifts left, Mom started picking up the ripped boxes and wrapping paper. Dad returned to the living room and told Dennis and me to help Mother with the boxes and paper, and put ‘em in the garbage cans in the garage.

          Had I not been so afraid of that man I might’ve started crying. That’s all I could’ve done. Anyway, we did what we were told, and stepped into the garage with our first load of trash. The minute we opened the door, our big brother Larry flipped on the light in the garage. – Low and behold, there were two JC Higgins bicycles, each red and black, with fenders, chain guards, and baskets attached to the handle bars. Dennis got the 26 inch model and I got the 24 inch. I have never had sadness dissolve so quickly. I can’t remember what Dennis did, but I started crying. Then I hugged Daddy.

I don’t know how long it took him to pay off all of the gifts that year. I do know that he and Larry were busy that night assembling the bikes.  

Yes, it was the best Christmas ever. Of course, the years passed as they always do. Dennis and I both kept our bikes in the garage up until the time we went away to Stephen F. Austin University in Nacogdoches. I was starting my freshman year, and Dennis his junior year. It was the summer of ’68 that I noticed our bikes were gone. I don’t know what Dad did with them, but I do hope a couple of worthy kids got ‘em.

Big Al got his own bike while we were away at college. His was one of those European-looking things with a gear lever and hand brakes attached to the handle bars. I don’t know how many gears there were on that bike. I believe I rode it all of 15 minutes. It just didn’t feel right to me. The seat was way too narrow and high, and the handlebars too low. However, it could go around the block twice before my JC Higgins 24 incher made it once.       

          While I enjoy returning to memory land, I would not enjoy going back in time and experiencing it again. Dennis and I made many friends and had a grand time at our old house, all the while not knowing that Dad was working his buns off just to pay the rent. No way could I have handled as many troubles as he did.

          When we got older, Dennis and I were able to be of more help to Dad with his carpentry work. Dennis had more carpenter genes in him than I did. I was always handing Dad the wrong tool.

I can only wonder what Dad might’ve been able to do if he had had more time off. He once told me that he wanted to write Westerns like those of Zane Grey. He wasn’t around long enough to read anything I wrote except for letters back home. He was good with letters. Had he been able to retire for longer than one year, no telling what he might’ve written. While he passed along his writing DNA to me, I wish he had given me some of his carpentry DNA.

Oh, and Kay has been hinting she wants a bicycle for Christmas this year. I’m hoping I can talk her out of that.

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