- Jun 5, 2020
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The Runt Who Saved Christmas
I think I was five years old when my mom and dad headed out to a farm outside of Kenmore to check out some puppies. We knew nothing of this but the story I came down from them. They went into a barn and saw six puppies just old enough to be weaned from their mother.
Five were strong and playful but one was not. She was tiny compared to her brothers and sisters and the farmer said to my parents, “She’ll likely die, I thought to put her down and all, but she so cute I just couldn’t and decided to leave it to God.”
Truth was my mom didn’t want a dog but when she saw that runt of the littler she fell in love with her. So my parents decided to bring her home. And this is where my part in this tender Christmas story begins.
It was a week before Christmas when my dad came in wearing his over sized overcoat. Nothing was in his hands. I came over and hugged him as I always did when he came in but something caused me to jump back.
“You’re pocket moved,” I exclaimed, “Daddy’s what in your pocket?”
He smiled them a secrete little smile as my other siblings who didn’t think to greet him suddenly became alert. He reached gently with his giant hands into his long green pocket and pulled out the smallest puppy I ever saw. Black, brown and gold with floppy ears I knew I was in love and squealed, “a puppy!”
“Merry Christmas,” he said handing that puppy to me as my sibling hurried over to see. I sat down , the tiny puppy on my lap, as my dad went to his chair, the one in the kitchen he always sat in. All four of my siblings sought to pet her and one by one they wanted her on their laps as well.
We named her Smoky for fire and Smoky of her black patched fur and she live growing strong and loyal. To this day none of the dog’s I’ve owned equaled her for her intelligence and loving nature. She protect our home from burglars both real and brotherly, and survive a tornado that took out the old apple tree on our family farm.
Sadly, she died young because she was the runt of her litter, but to this day I never forget finding her tucked neatly in my daddies pocket, the most precious and beloved puppy I would ever come to love.
The Christmas Strike
This second story of Christmas also happened when I was young. My Dad worked for WBEN as a technician. It was December when his union decided to go on strike. I was too young to know why, only that this strike continued well into Advent.
Neighbors brought us casseroles, that filled our freezer downstairs and kept us from starving. So we had food but the hard part was Christmas was coming and there was no sign of that strike ending.
A few weeks before Christmas my father locked the door to the attack telling us Santa needed the attic for a few weeks, he’d run out of room in the north Pole. I was young enough to believe this.
I couldn’t though understand why my siblings were so distressed as Christmas came closer. All night long we heard who we though was Santa working hammering and moving somethings about. For me this increased my excitement while their spirits crumbled.
Then day of Christmas we went out and found a cheap tree the man was willing to give us because it was so late in the day. We carted it home and put it up. We decorated it and got ready for Midnight Mass.
Evening came and as usual as many here already know, my mom “forgot something” and hurried inside. She come out soon afterward and we’d be on our way. Coming home we knew Christ would be in the manger just not how he got there. But my siblings fully expected the area beneath the tree to be empty. We were broke after a month without pay.
We came in and I, being too young and innocent raced to the tree. My siblings came slower. I usually hurry over to see if Christ came but something stopped me in my tracks and I cried out with glee.
“He came, Santa came, look what he left us!” I cried causing my sibling to hurry in and see. There under the tree was a newly fixed and painted doll house that to our young eyes looked new. That huge, four room doll house with wide hall and stairs was for all of us. It was unwrapped and had only a bright red ribbon to say Merry Christmas.
It would be years later I discover as all young children do, the truth about Santa Clause and where that doll house came from in truth.
Some time in early December, when the strike was still new but the company was being pig headed, my dad found a badly broken doll house out in the street. It was then he got that idea to bring it home and lock himself in the attic every night after walking the picket line all day in the freezing cold.
He rebuilt it using extra wood and glue and nails, using paint left over from painting our house or certain rooms and anything else he could find on his work bench. While I heard Santa and his elves, it was really my loving father struggling through fatigue and depression wanting more than anything to give something special to his five children.
In the end, it was this sacrifice of love that prove far more magical to me than any other magic tied to Christmas. And that doll house, we loved it to death until it ended up outside our house on garbage day. It was not picked up my the truck though, so it likely lives on,
I think I was five years old when my mom and dad headed out to a farm outside of Kenmore to check out some puppies. We knew nothing of this but the story I came down from them. They went into a barn and saw six puppies just old enough to be weaned from their mother.
Five were strong and playful but one was not. She was tiny compared to her brothers and sisters and the farmer said to my parents, “She’ll likely die, I thought to put her down and all, but she so cute I just couldn’t and decided to leave it to God.”
Truth was my mom didn’t want a dog but when she saw that runt of the littler she fell in love with her. So my parents decided to bring her home. And this is where my part in this tender Christmas story begins.
It was a week before Christmas when my dad came in wearing his over sized overcoat. Nothing was in his hands. I came over and hugged him as I always did when he came in but something caused me to jump back.
“You’re pocket moved,” I exclaimed, “Daddy’s what in your pocket?”
He smiled them a secrete little smile as my other siblings who didn’t think to greet him suddenly became alert. He reached gently with his giant hands into his long green pocket and pulled out the smallest puppy I ever saw. Black, brown and gold with floppy ears I knew I was in love and squealed, “a puppy!”
“Merry Christmas,” he said handing that puppy to me as my sibling hurried over to see. I sat down , the tiny puppy on my lap, as my dad went to his chair, the one in the kitchen he always sat in. All four of my siblings sought to pet her and one by one they wanted her on their laps as well.
We named her Smoky for fire and Smoky of her black patched fur and she live growing strong and loyal. To this day none of the dog’s I’ve owned equaled her for her intelligence and loving nature. She protect our home from burglars both real and brotherly, and survive a tornado that took out the old apple tree on our family farm.
Sadly, she died young because she was the runt of her litter, but to this day I never forget finding her tucked neatly in my daddies pocket, the most precious and beloved puppy I would ever come to love.
The Christmas Strike
This second story of Christmas also happened when I was young. My Dad worked for WBEN as a technician. It was December when his union decided to go on strike. I was too young to know why, only that this strike continued well into Advent.
Neighbors brought us casseroles, that filled our freezer downstairs and kept us from starving. So we had food but the hard part was Christmas was coming and there was no sign of that strike ending.
A few weeks before Christmas my father locked the door to the attack telling us Santa needed the attic for a few weeks, he’d run out of room in the north Pole. I was young enough to believe this.
I couldn’t though understand why my siblings were so distressed as Christmas came closer. All night long we heard who we though was Santa working hammering and moving somethings about. For me this increased my excitement while their spirits crumbled.
Then day of Christmas we went out and found a cheap tree the man was willing to give us because it was so late in the day. We carted it home and put it up. We decorated it and got ready for Midnight Mass.
Evening came and as usual as many here already know, my mom “forgot something” and hurried inside. She come out soon afterward and we’d be on our way. Coming home we knew Christ would be in the manger just not how he got there. But my siblings fully expected the area beneath the tree to be empty. We were broke after a month without pay.
We came in and I, being too young and innocent raced to the tree. My siblings came slower. I usually hurry over to see if Christ came but something stopped me in my tracks and I cried out with glee.
“He came, Santa came, look what he left us!” I cried causing my sibling to hurry in and see. There under the tree was a newly fixed and painted doll house that to our young eyes looked new. That huge, four room doll house with wide hall and stairs was for all of us. It was unwrapped and had only a bright red ribbon to say Merry Christmas.
It would be years later I discover as all young children do, the truth about Santa Clause and where that doll house came from in truth.
Some time in early December, when the strike was still new but the company was being pig headed, my dad found a badly broken doll house out in the street. It was then he got that idea to bring it home and lock himself in the attic every night after walking the picket line all day in the freezing cold.
He rebuilt it using extra wood and glue and nails, using paint left over from painting our house or certain rooms and anything else he could find on his work bench. While I heard Santa and his elves, it was really my loving father struggling through fatigue and depression wanting more than anything to give something special to his five children.
In the end, it was this sacrifice of love that prove far more magical to me than any other magic tied to Christmas. And that doll house, we loved it to death until it ended up outside our house on garbage day. It was not picked up my the truck though, so it likely lives on,
