The Look of Christmas

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

The year was 1952. I was six years old and anxious for Christmas to come. I had written my letter to Santa requesting a 24" J.C. Higgins bicycle. I didn't know how to ride a bike but I was sure that in no time I would be sailing up and down the dirt road in front of my home.

My joy was complete Christmas morning as I entered the room and saw my candy apple red bicycle next to the tree. There were other presents with my name on them but I had only one thought…get outside and learn to ride my new bike. My brother Bill got a bike also but he was seven and he already knew how to ride. Bill climbed on his bike and was soon out of sight. I quickly discovered that a 24" bicycle was too tall for a six year old. It was impossible to sit on the seat and keep my feet on the pedals. Sometime the bicycle cross bar was even a challenge. My dad assured me that I would grow into the bike.

Learning to ride this oversize bicycle proved very challenging for me. I couldn't pedal with enough momentum to keep my balance so my brother came up with a plan. I pushed my bike over to a gently sloping hill. Holding the bike while I straddled the cross bar and got my feet on the pedals, my brother gave me a gentle shove down the incline. If I could have remembered my birth this would have been the second most frightening experience of my life. I was convinced that I was about to die. I crashed. I survived, but the candy apple red paint on my bike didn't do as well. I cried as I pushed my bike home. My brother was still laughing as we came into the front yard. I thought how strange it was that he got so serious and concerned about my welfare when my mother appeared in the doorway. She consoled me and assured me that my bike would function just as well with the paint scuffed up a little.

I eventually learned to ride my candy apple red bike with the white side wall tires. The world was different in those days. Mother let us ride our bicycles to town seven miles away. After we moved to the city, my brother and I rode all the way to granny's house thirty-three miles away. Young boys on a two lane country road traveling so far away made us feel all grown up. We eventually rode the tread off the tires of those bikes. That was okay because with bald tires we could slam on the brakes and skid farther which was a great pastime.

I no longer worried about the scrapes and scratches on my candy apple red bike. I left it out in the rain. I occasionally left it in the neighbor's yard and took little regard for it unless I couldn't find it when I was ready to travel once more. One day I looked and looked for my bike and couldn't find it anywhere. When I asked mother if she knew where my bike was, she said, "Yes, I gave your bike away to some needy children who will appreciate it and keep it out of the weather." I was so angry with her that I could cuss but cussing would get me the "you know what." Of course I never tried cussing my mother but I got the "you know what" for other things and I wasn't going to invite that experience into my life intentionally. I was in a bad mood for days. I even ran away for four hours but I decided that wasn't a good plan. No matter what I did or what I said, my candy apple red bicycle did not come home.

As Christmas approached I requested a new bike. Mother said I couldn't ask for another bike because I didn't take care of the bike I had. I told her if I couldn't have a bike I didn't want anything; apply the pressure, right. I knew my parents would eventually cave under the pressure and I'd get a new bike. As Christmas neared I looked high and low for evidence of a new bike tucked away in a safe place. See, when you live out in the country your parents sometimes loose faith in Santa and they stash a few things here and there just incase Santa can't find your place on Christmas Eve.

With all my snooping and searching I could find no evidence of a new bicycle that would be standing shining and bright in our living room on Christmas morning just waiting to make me the happiest boy alive. Mother said that if I didn't decide what I wanted for Christmas she would ask Santa to just bring me some clothes. With a reluctant heart I made other choices for the coming Christmas. Mother reminded us that there were many children on Santa's list so we needed to be careful about how much we asked for. Her comment reminded me of that poor little boy who was riding my candy apple red bike. I hoped he crashed and I didn't even know who he was.

Christmas morning finally arrived. I planned to act excited although I was still unhappy about not getting a bicycle. To my surprise there were two shiny green bicycles with white trim; one for me and one for my brother. I ran across the living room to claim my new bike. Coming closer, I realized the bike wasn't new. It was my old 24" J.C. Higgins bike painted a different color. It wasn't even a good paint job. I was angry at mother for lying to me about giving my bike away. I thought of all the months I had missed riding my bike. She had lied to me. Even with my old bike back I was still unhappy that I wasn't getting a new bicycle for Christmas. This was turning out to be the worst Christmas of my life. I looked at my brother and I could see the same disappointment in his eyes. I turned to my mother and as our eyes met I knew at that instant that I held her happiness in my hands. I saw a longing in her eyes that even a ten year old boy could recognize. Would I do the right thing? Would my light burn bright this day? I knew my mother had painted my bike with her own hands. The unsteady lines and brush strokes of the green paint took on new meaning to me. I ran to mother and threw my arms around her, hugging her has tight as I could and thanking her for my bicycle. As my brother and I took our bikes outside to ride, we decided it was nice to have new tires and fresh paint. We grinned at each other and peddled down the road. I never forgot the power we held in our hands that morning when we looked up into the eyes of our mother on a Christmas long ago when there were so many children on Santa's list.