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December 20, 2024   ·   0 Comments

Christmas wishes

By Brian Lockhart

It is the Christmas season – the season of peace on earth, goodwill toward men and women.

It is the season of giving and receiving.

Some people prefer receiving instead of giving. I’ve known some people who thought they deserved gifts, and expensive ones, and could not care less about giving to others.

I try to avoid that kind of person.

I’ve known others, whose greatest pleasure is seeing the smile on someone’s face when they present them with a holiday gift.

I never expect much in the way of gifts during the holidays. For me, the big deal of getting a gift is the fact that someone was thinking about me.

Last Christmas, someone I know gave me a Tim Horton’s gift card – I was thrilled.

I wasn’t thrilled because I could get several cups of my favourite beverage, I was happy that she actually thought of me, and took the effort to get me something she knew I would like.

To me, that is the spirit of the season.

For many people, the gift that brings back the most memories, or may be cherished more than others, will not be the most expensive or elaborate gift. It may be something simple or understated, but touches your heart.

When I was around eight years old, I was with my mother in a local Playtime Store. I can’t remember why we were there, but I’m pretty sure she was surreptitiously buying Christmas presents while I wandered the aisles, star-struck by the rows and rows of toys.

When we went up to the counter to pay, I noticed a bin full of rubber action-type figures. I picked up a little rubber man.

He looked like he was hanging by his elbows in some medieval prison. He was wearing torn green pants held up by a rope. His feet were bare, his eyes bulged from their sockets, and his tongue was hanging out of his mouth.

I thought this was hilarious. I laughed and laughed, and poked my mom and showed it to her.

She took a cursory glance, nodded, said nothing, and went back to paying her bill.

I laughed some more and put the little rubber man back in the bin.

A week later, it was Christmas morning. I emptied out my Christmas stocking to see what Santa had brought during the night.

A few things fell out onto the carpet, including the little rubber medieval prisoner.

I guess my mom really did notice how much I liked this ridiculous little trinket probably made in some Japanese factory that sold for .29 cents.

I took that little rubber man and hung him from the light fixture in my bedroom, where he stayed for the next 14 years.

When I moved away, I took him with me. In every place I have ever lived, that little rubber man has had a place of honour in some way or another.

Currently, he is hanging from the light fixture in my home office. Most of the time I forget he is even there.

Once in a blue moon, I look up and see those bulging eyes looking down at me – and I still laugh.

Why does such a small, inexpensive gift still mean something to me after all those years?

I think it just reminds me of a happy time in my life. A time when dinner was made for me every night, and I had a place to sleep. A time when there were no bills to pay, no taxes to pay, no car problems to fix, and my biggest problem was deciding what I was going to do on a Saturday afternoon.

One day I asked my dad, “why is there a Mother’s Day, and a Father’s Day, but no kid’s day?”

He replied, “every day is kid’s day. One day you’ll understand.”

He was right.

So this Christmas, when everyone is opening their presents, take a moment and think about the best gift you really could have, and would it even cost anything?

The best gift I could have is to see that my family and friends are happy, successful, and healthy.  Nothing else really matters.

Although, I must admit having a red Ford Mustang 5 L convertible, would make me pretty happy. However, that’s something I’m going to have to earn myself.

Enjoy your holidays, visit your friends and family, and renew old acquaintances. Revel in this time and don’t waste a moment.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night. 

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