MEACHAM LANE MEMOIRS/Reflections On A South Carolina Christmas Morning

December 25, 2001

134 Clearview Drive, Columbia, South Carolina

For my Sons

There are very few Christmas’ that I remember during my formative years with Mother and Dad and my brother Ken in Paducah, Kentucky in the 1950's.  We lived in a very small house at 1507 Meacham Lane. There was a large elm tree in the front yard by the straight gravel road that, in ensuing years, would yield to asphalt. There was a large limb growing horizontally out of the old tree, and there is no telling how many hours I spent upside down, hanging like a skinny possum in the sun. 

When we first moved into the house, the wood outhouse still stood, along with a chicken house,  with a fenced in area.  The chicken house metamorphosed over the years as a shed for storage and even served as a stable for a short time for my horse, Domino.

Christmas mostly was not something of which I have fond or enduring memories, which is to say it rates considerably better than Thanksgiving.  I have no memories of Thanksgiving and of the turkey and dressing dinners that are so essential to family gatherings today.
 

I do remember three Christmas’ in that little house on the dirt road.  One certainly was before Mother’s illness and end of Dad’s tenure with Charles Todd Uniform Rental Company.  On that Christmas the tiny living room was full of presents when I awoke on that morning.  I could not have been much older than 8 or 9 years, and everything a boy of that time could want was in that room and under that tree that day.  The prize was the new Schwinn bike.  It had every button and whistle.  It was something to see…and in the days to come, to ride!  There was also a baseball glove that became an integral part of my body in the ensuing years since it went with me everywhere; And lots of other stuff, such as a rocket that you could propel across the room and a space station.  No one that I knew in that neighborhood could even come close to the gaudy wealth that Santa Claus had seen fit to leave in my care that December day.

The other Christmas that comes to mind every new Christmas I experience is one after the terrible illness that had befallen Mother.  Dad was struggling to find and keep work after the ruthless termination by the rental uniform company in the midst of Mother’s many hospital stays.  Dad now had no income, and no insurance to cope with Mother’s staggering, and mounting, hospital bills.

 Dad came home on that Christmas Eve and went to the tiny living room where the tree always had center stage.  Under that tree were one or two packages for me, but not a single one for my brother, Ken.  My notice of it was something that kept me in tears for many of the days leading up to Christmas Eve, and I must admit, has caused me tears on more than one occasion since.  I called the situation to Dad’s attention, and he asked Mother why Ken had no packages under the tree.  I don’t remember her answer, other than Ken was currently in her disfavor over something.  God knows, that Mother was not herself and was having trouble dealing with what was real and what was not, and her health was still in very serious demise, both mentally and physically.  We were always first in her life, and her love was never doubted and always we had known if there was but a dollar in her pocket, it was ours for the asking.  I believe seeing Mother then, in that condition, so unlike herself, left me so lost and confused and scared that she would never get better that little else was ever on my mind.

Dad took me with him that night, Christmas Eve, to look for someplace that might still be open in order that we could put presents under the tree for Ken.  Everywhere we tried was closed.  Except for Hugg the Druggist drugstore on Bridge Street..  Dad found a small inexpensive camera and I found a green plaid hat that was the style for that time that I thought Ken would like, and the two items depleted all the small sum of money that Dad had to his name.  I remember watching Ken walk off on Christmas morning with that hat on his bowed head and his hands in his pockets, and I cried again.  I don't know why.

I also remember a Christmas in which I received a real bow and arrow set.  When I went outside into our backyard that day, the bow and arrow went with me.  Heavy frost had formed the grass into locks of angel hair.  But, I wanted to launch an arrow from the new bow and did so…it sliding under the sheaves of hoary frost to disappear from sight.  I looked and looked for the new arrow, one I believe of three in the set, but never found it until the promise of spring.

I do not know exactly why I sat down to pen these thoughts and reflections today.  Except that I have thought a lot lately about how fast that time went by, growing up with Ken and Mother and Dad on Meacham Lane and how melancholy sweet the memories are.  We had very hard times, and we had good times.  We endured both without a lot of money or worldly riches.  But, we endured.  I think about Mother and miss her every week of my life.  And as hard as those times were, and as lonely, I know she loved me more than anything on earth and pray that today she is without pain and without suffering.  And if it is allowed, I hope that sometimes she thinks of me also.

You will have hard times too.  Some Christmas’ will be more special than others.  In the end, if you have put your family first and have their respect and love, it just won’t matter.
     

I also today have the servicemen of this country in the forefront of my thoughts and prayers.  I know today they struggle in the ice and cold, desert and heat on the battlegrounds and base camps of Afghanistan and Iraq as they hunt down the cowardly and terrorist enemy that attacked us on September 11.  And I know the loneliness they feel in their isolation from family and friends on this holiday, even in the midst of the pride they harbor in the sure knowledge that their sacrifice and service enables the safety and love and freedom to worship of those back in the USA that fill their hearts with love this Christmas day.

I was in service overseas on Christmas of 1968 in Di An, Vietnam with the 1^st Infantry Division…only a month after my marriage to your Mother in Honolulu on R&R.  The loneliness is something that I pray none of my children will ever have to experience.  My consistent prayer, every day in Vietnam, was that God allow me to live to see my children born and grown.  I know He must have laughed every time I made the prayer; just what I obviously was praying for, was for Him to get me the heck out of that war-torn, impoverished, country and home safe again with your Mother.
          

There will not be many more Christmas’ that we all will celebrate together.  You are grown and the world will take you and your families in many directions.  Such is the way.
    

And only God knows the count of the days of each of our respective lives and when those days are used up.  So, on this day, let us celebrate the lives of each other…Mother, Father, Brother, and daughter-in-law, and precious grandchildren…as we celebrate most high the life of Jesus Christ who was born on this day, and with the ultimate sacrifice of his own life amidst his Father’s tears and anguish, made possible the faith that I pray you all share -- that someday, as surely as I again will see my Mother and Father and Brother and share the embrace of love with them, that we all will, too, share that time of reunion together.

My Christmas prayer for my sons is this:  "Value the name, which you have been given.  Do this first and foremost by valuing honor above all things.  Not the honor, which speaks of vanity, but the honor of being known as a man of his word.  The honor of valuing hard work above the riches that they may provide, of loving your Father and Mother, your wife and always being considerate and gentle with your children.  The honor of providing for your children, keeping their interests and safety and well being above your own in every way in your everyday lives; The honor of being known, whether through worship in your church, or by your actions and testimony, as a Christian with love and peace in your hearts towards your fellow man.
 

May you live your lives with the quiet peace and dignity that being good men brings…over the riches and treasures that the world flaunts before you.  Believe in your family, your God, and yourself…as your Mother and I believe in each of you, loving you each the same.  I am glad that God allowed my wish of seeing you each born and grown into such fine and wonderful young men.
 

Where I have failed in your eyes, I seek forgiveness.  Know that where you strayed from the path, and how often, does not matter.  I forgave you instantly, even though I did not always think it in your best interests to let you know it at the time.  All paths converge in the end, to those who seek reunion in the Kingdom of the Creator.  I will, if I'm not with you at the Christmas table this or any future year, see you there".

Dad