MY CHRISTMAS STORY

I watched The Christmas Story again for perhaps the 50th time since its debut in the 80’s and I thought of Jean Shepherd, it’s author and my TV colleague and friend.  We spent a lot of time together as we produced PBS network shows and I heard the “real skinny,” as he would call it, about his stories – which by the way he always firmly stressed “…were not memories…for god sakes!  I’m a writer, don’t they get it? Except for  brother Randy the rest of them are not real!”

And then I am back in Millville 1953 and remembering my own Christmas story.

Every kid I knew had BB guns but a couple even younger than me had real 22 rifles – REAL bullet shooting rifles.  And this Christmas I was intent on getting something more than a Roy Rogers cap gun and a dozen of those red rolls of caps. So, I started a quest for my 22 when Mom asked , “What’s on your  “Christmas List”?  Playing it cool, I didn’t start with a target rifle.   I slipped it in after some “educational” stuff designed to soften her up.  I began with an “Art Kit”.  I had an  "artistic nature" according to Nanny who always appreciated my drawings.  Next, I mentioned a Gilbert chemistry set that I saw in the Sears & Roebucks’ Wish Book- the kid's Christmas gift bible.  “On page 85”,  I added just to make sure mom would find it - but it wasn’t a priority I just saw when I searched for the sporting goods sections and found two models of Craftsmen 22 rifles available for shipping – one with a plain wood stock and the other, the deluxe model, came with a case and paper targets that looked like deer and bears.  Mom countered the chemistry ploy immediately, “You’ll blow up the kitchen!”  This was not a good sign.  Yikes I thought - is this no time for a sales pitch about a weapon?  “You are definitely not getting any guns either,” Mom barked (reading my mind as she often did), leaving no room for negotiation  – so I folded.  “I guess that’s all I can think of for now…” and I finished dinner in silence. 

As Mom and Nanny cleared the dishes, I pulled out the Sears catalog once again.  The Wish Book was worn out after a month of pawing through it; dog earring pages; reading brief descriptions that accompanied the photos of toys held by joyous kids; not looking at prices that appeared in fine print at the end of each clever description.  If I wasn't getting a genuine target practicing  gun, now what?   

Since summer, I had been imagining myself as the  “great safari hunter of Stratton Avenue” roaming my backyard jungle. (I emulated Ramar of the Jungle which I devotedly watched every Saturday morning as he saved one of the friendly tribe from an attacking carnivore.)  Frankly, at 10 years old I had few toy fantasies left – not because I was getting too old for toys – but because I had almost everything a boy could ever want – except something I could really shoot.   As I rifled (pun intended) through the pages once again,  I couldn’t find one good toy I needed, let alone wanted.  And then I saw on the same page as the hunting rifles – An Archery Set!!!   Maybe mom would accept an less deadly alternative to the dangers of a gun.

Immediately, I erased my African safari from my memory banks and cooked up one about Indian warriors.  (And yes, we called them “Indians” in those days).  I saw myself tracking bison on the plains and skinning pelts for wampum.  Tonto, pal of  the Lone Ranger could shoot arrows with great results and I would too.  I studied the  “beginner’s” set which included: a fiberglass bow; 6 maple arrows with steel tips and  genuine feathers; an arm protector and 5 targets with bullseye over a deer in full stride.  Done deal!  This was indeed a great compromise and  I decided to add this sportsman’s hobby gift suggestion to my list  at dinner tomorrow evening.

The next evening the moment we sat down for supper I announced -  

“You know what?  I have decided what I really need Santa to bring me!  All scooping and passing stopped.  A Sears Sportsman’s Beginners Archery Set!!!”  Mom paused for just a beat, then said, “I think arrows are more dangerous than guns, ya never know where those arrows are going to end up.”   Yikes foiled again as they said in the movies.  My hopes at becoming a backyard hunter were dashed, and I couldn’t think of a good argument to make my point.  I now realized that this Christmas I was just going to get  more clothes (which could start a trend for the rest of my kid years).  So, dejectedly,  I stopped making gift suggestions at dinner as the days marched on to  by the greatest day on the kid-calendar.

Christmas Day I was up early after a restless night of tossing and turning with no sugar plums dancing.  My house had changed dramatically while I was semi-asleep.  The tree in the living room was now trimmed by Santa.  Red and green crepe paper decked our hall.  And there were great smelling candles burning everywhere.   And beneath the tree a mountain of neatly wrapped gifts – (Later in life I would appreciate that it was mom not Santa that did do all the great themed wrappings -  she was a much more patient wrapper than I would ever be).   

After what seemed like hours of opening gifts, Mom said, “Well do you like everything you got from Santa?”  I said without thinking, “Almost, thanks Mom, Nanny, Pop!”  Then Pop with a smile reached behind the sofa and handed me one more gift.  A very long box with a red ribbon. Inside I found the archery set.  My Christmas  was complete.  My grandfather showed me how to string the bow and notch an arrow.  Then he did something that shocked everyone.  He turned and let an arrow fly right into our kitchen.  BANG!  It pierced a metal trash filled with remnants of ripped wrappings.  Gads, the arrow went right through it.  Pop looked me in the eye and said, “This is not a toy, Calvin.  Never point it at a living thing.  Be very careful this is not a toy – you hear me!”  My mother and grandmother just shook their heads - I think they were still in shock from Pop's surprise gift.  “Yes Pop,” I said...

...and then I had an instant revelation that would last a lifetime.  guns, arrows, weapons, all seem glamorous in the movies.  But now I saw them for what they really were and why they were dangerous – they were made to hurt things or worse.

In the backyard that afternoon I learned how to shoot my bow and arrow – but not once did I try for a robin or a blue jay. I knew, from that day on, I would never be the great hunter of Stratton Avenue - or anywhere else for that matter!