THE YEAR SANTA WENT ON STRIKE

My mother and grandmother were whispering in the kitchen – and at Christmas time I knew that was either a good sign or a bad one.  So I immediately I left TV watching and made a bee-line (what do bees do when they do this?) to the kitchen – Milton Berle would just have to go on without me.  Of course, they stopped the whispers immediately when I appeared and said, " I just need a glass of water".  Both had very grim looks on their faces and now I was really really worried.  Yikes, maybe this year, for the first time I was on the naughty list for some minor transgression...I wasn’t going to get anything for Christmas?  

 I started to list my infractions:  I did break a window with a wayward snowball that was a costly error.  I was late a few times coming home for dinner.  And the worst infraction possible, I got a “poor  conduct'' remark on my last report card: “Calvin is very chatty during class, he needs to pay more attention, especially during arithmetic",  written in red ink by Miss R - 4th grade teacher.  But these were not as grievous as some of my friends had perpetrated year after year and Santa always seemed to visit them – I couldn't figure what was wrong?

The long days before the holiday passed and when Christmas Day was just four days away my mother asked me to stay for a moment  at the table after dinner – I knew this wasn’t going to end well.  She began in her most serious voice: “Calvin sometimes things happen that we can’t control.  You have been a very good boy this year, but I have had word that Santa may be late coming to our hourse…so…ah…please don’t be disappointed if you don’t get everything you asked for on Christmas morning.  I am sure he will make it up to you…her voice trailed off..."

Yikes this was the worst news I ever had, even worse then hearing the dentist say, “Oh my....”   The next day at recess I held a playground conference with my kickball buddies.  None of my chums have ever had a mom make this kind of declaration – they reported that Santa doesn’t leave gifts for free, maybe my mom was broke and needed to save up before he would come – I had never thought of that.  I immediately promised myself that I would understand if there wasn’t a new bike (my top or the Santa list gift) by the tree on the big morning –  mom being short of money was a much more serious problem than me not getting everything...I thought trying to convince myself of this.

     I was very quiet on Christmas Eve after church.  Christmas morning dawned and I made my way down the hall to the living room in my official Roy Rogers flannel robe.  As I turned the corner I couldn’t believe it. There was a bicycle by our tree and my grandmother, grandfather and mom all had a kind of strange smile. Yikes, a bike.  An english racer with those skinny tires - it wasn't the bike I had wanted – but I would take it.  Santa had come after all and my worries disappeared as I hugged everyone a bit tighter than usual.

     Later that morning, the big brown UPS truck pulled up in front of our house - this was Christmas day, no one works on this day.  The driver carried a very large package to our door.  I couldn’t imagine what this was all about?  My mom called me in and said, “It's Christmas morning all over again,” and I saw another bike - this was the one I wanted, the Schwinn "Black Beauty".  I felt like I might faint.  This was a mystery.  My mother said Santa couldn't decide so he sent another bike and that I would have to choose the one I wanted to keep and return the other.

     After a ride on each around the block after a big breakfast I decided I loved them both.  I admitted to mom that I couldn’t decide right now which to keep.  There was more kitchen whispering as my mom and grandmother began preparing our annual Christmas feast.  Later that evening, as we all rested from a wonderful day, my mother announced that she and nanny had decided that I could keep both bikes!  (They were both “softies” when it came to me.)

Years later I learned the rest of the story - the UPS drivers (Santa’s helpers) had gone on strike two days before the holidays.  My mom decided that Christmas would have to wait until my Gimbels Wishbook bike could be delivered from Philly – but my grandfather, who had a very good night playing poker along with several highballs of Christmas cheer at his lodge meeting bought me a second bike on his way home before Sears & Roebucks closed.  He just could bear seeing me disappointed on Christmas day.  (He was a secret “softey” too),

And so adding to our  family lore, and much discussed over the years, I was the ‘only” kid who ever got two bikes for Christmas!