The Idaho Christmas Story
Once in a great while when my mother was in a soft, good mood, she would awaken me with the words “rise and shine, looks like it might be a nice day out.” Those times were few, but were so pleasant.
I do remember a tender side of her on one occasion. It was on Christmas Eve of 1974, one of
the same years that I didn’t see my dad for several months time due to his heavy drinking. That Idaho winter was also one of the coldest on record to this date. It was a cold and snowy late afternoon on December 24th, 1974; all five boys and their mother were wearing layers of clothing to keep warm in our 12 x 60-foot mobile home. Blankets were strewn on the couch, where we all bundled together to stay warm on that Holiday evening. No gifts, no heat, no candy canes were in the house, but we did have joy, laughter, love, cookies and hot tea to help give us warmth, (oh, and we had potatoes, lot of potatoes). My brothers and I sang Christmas carols and tried to console our Mother in telling her we did not need any presents as we had each other, a home, and a GOD that loved us.
Suddenly we became quiet as an unexpected car pulled in front of our trailer house with the sliding glass door that was partially frozen shut and had ice build up on the lower half of the glass. The six of us peered out at the lady who stepped out of the four door, gray sedan covered in red from head to foot with hat, gloves, heavy coat and black shiny boots, we watched intensely as she opened the trunk of her car and pulled out a large green canvas military style bag. Immediately we started working on loosening up the door to let our unknown guest into our home. With canvas bag slung over her shoulder, she climbed the wooden steps to our humble abode. Our guest once in our home, asked if we werethFamily of 205 Canal Street? Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes sounded the replies from five curious boys, awaiting to see what was in the large green bag. The lady looked at my mother, then spoke these words, "Well, I am with the Salvation Army and we received information that your family could not afford gifts for Christmas, so I have brought gifts of toys and clothes donated for you." The Angel of a woman had barely finished her introduction, when my mother replied quite harshly, "We do not accept Charity!" The Salvation Army woman began to explain further that it was not considered Charity, but my Mother continued her vehement stance, "That this family would not accept these gifts," and she added, "thank you for coming." The lady picked up the bag, again slung it over her shoulder and headed back into the cold. Our Mother turned and saw five distressed looking young men that would have a hard time singing any more Christmas Carols that evening and she hung her head. She then slid open the door and called out to the lady as stoic as possible, "Please come back in, each of my boys can choose one item each," she then looked at me, smiled and said, "Rico, go help the lady carry the bag."
Five young boys squealed with pleasure, the oldest at fourteen, the youngest at seven years of age, the other three in between. The ‘Christmas Angel’ or ‘Santa’s Helper’, she was honorably named many things that evening, she from the Salvation Army came into the house with a huge smile. Gently she opened the "Santa Claus Sack" and put all the contents onto the cold, linoleum floor, we carefully analyzed each item as if they were diamonds, jades, pearls, gold, and sterling silver. I knew the instant I saw it leave the bag, what gift was mine. A great looking, used, McGregor leather, baseball glove. I put that leather stitched ball mitt on my left hand and it fit perfectly, just as a glove should. I do not remember what my four brothers chose that beautiful Christmas Eve, but I do remember all of them being as pleased and thankful with their gifts as was I with mine. I looked at my Mother with more love than I had ever known for her, knowing that she had made the choice of bringing joy to her sons over her strong sense of pride. She had suffered humiliation as a human being but had triumphed as a mother of goodness.
The youngest sibling of the five boys was still able to believe in Santa Claus as we concocted a story that the Lady was a friend of St. Nicholas and she was helping him out that night as he was so busy with other children's deliveries around the world. We would celebrate three more Christmas Eves and Days together as a family before the youngest was taken from us in this world to be an Angel in Heaven. He was lucky, he still believed in Santa Claus when his life had ended in a tragic accident. Little Steven had broken his neck after falling from our apricot tree while playing and enjoying life.
That following Christmas after Steven’s untimely death that rolled around in cold December never heard a Christmas tune in our household; all of us were still grieving, we never got over not having our littlest brother asking questions about Santa Claus, his elves, his reindeer and the North Pole. It took me tens of years to again enjoy the Christmas Holiday, it was my least favorite time of year. (excerpt from Chapter 10 of My Bad Tequila, copyright © 2010)
Rico Austin PhD
Once in a great while when my mother was in a soft, good mood, she would awaken me with the words “rise and shine, looks like it might be a nice day out.” Those times were few, but were so pleasant.
I do remember a tender side of her on one occasion. It was on Christmas Eve of 1974, one of
the same years that I didn’t see my dad for several months time due to his heavy drinking. That Idaho winter was also one of the coldest on record to this date. It was a cold and snowy late afternoon on December 24th, 1974; all five boys and their mother were wearing layers of clothing to keep warm in our 12 x 60-foot mobile home. Blankets were strewn on the couch, where we all bundled together to stay warm on that Holiday evening. No gifts, no heat, no candy canes were in the house, but we did have joy, laughter, love, cookies and hot tea to help give us warmth, (oh, and we had potatoes, lot of potatoes). My brothers and I sang Christmas carols and tried to console our Mother in telling her we did not need any presents as we had each other, a home, and a GOD that loved us.
Suddenly we became quiet as an unexpected car pulled in front of our trailer house with the sliding glass door that was partially frozen shut and had ice build up on the lower half of the glass. The six of us peered out at the lady who stepped out of the four door, gray sedan covered in red from head to foot with hat, gloves, heavy coat and black shiny boots, we watched intensely as she opened the trunk of her car and pulled out a large green canvas military style bag. Immediately we started working on loosening up the door to let our unknown guest into our home. With canvas bag slung over her shoulder, she climbed the wooden steps to our humble abode. Our guest once in our home, asked if we werethFamily of 205 Canal Street? Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes sounded the replies from five curious boys, awaiting to see what was in the large green bag. The lady looked at my mother, then spoke these words, "Well, I am with the Salvation Army and we received information that your family could not afford gifts for Christmas, so I have brought gifts of toys and clothes donated for you." The Angel of a woman had barely finished her introduction, when my mother replied quite harshly, "We do not accept Charity!" The Salvation Army woman began to explain further that it was not considered Charity, but my Mother continued her vehement stance, "That this family would not accept these gifts," and she added, "thank you for coming." The lady picked up the bag, again slung it over her shoulder and headed back into the cold. Our Mother turned and saw five distressed looking young men that would have a hard time singing any more Christmas Carols that evening and she hung her head. She then slid open the door and called out to the lady as stoic as possible, "Please come back in, each of my boys can choose one item each," she then looked at me, smiled and said, "Rico, go help the lady carry the bag."
Five young boys squealed with pleasure, the oldest at fourteen, the youngest at seven years of age, the other three in between. The ‘Christmas Angel’ or ‘Santa’s Helper’, she was honorably named many things that evening, she from the Salvation Army came into the house with a huge smile. Gently she opened the "Santa Claus Sack" and put all the contents onto the cold, linoleum floor, we carefully analyzed each item as if they were diamonds, jades, pearls, gold, and sterling silver. I knew the instant I saw it leave the bag, what gift was mine. A great looking, used, McGregor leather, baseball glove. I put that leather stitched ball mitt on my left hand and it fit perfectly, just as a glove should. I do not remember what my four brothers chose that beautiful Christmas Eve, but I do remember all of them being as pleased and thankful with their gifts as was I with mine. I looked at my Mother with more love than I had ever known for her, knowing that she had made the choice of bringing joy to her sons over her strong sense of pride. She had suffered humiliation as a human being but had triumphed as a mother of goodness.
The youngest sibling of the five boys was still able to believe in Santa Claus as we concocted a story that the Lady was a friend of St. Nicholas and she was helping him out that night as he was so busy with other children's deliveries around the world. We would celebrate three more Christmas Eves and Days together as a family before the youngest was taken from us in this world to be an Angel in Heaven. He was lucky, he still believed in Santa Claus when his life had ended in a tragic accident. Little Steven had broken his neck after falling from our apricot tree while playing and enjoying life.
That following Christmas after Steven’s untimely death that rolled around in cold December never heard a Christmas tune in our household; all of us were still grieving, we never got over not having our littlest brother asking questions about Santa Claus, his elves, his reindeer and the North Pole. It took me tens of years to again enjoy the Christmas Holiday, it was my least favorite time of year. (excerpt from Chapter 10 of My Bad Tequila, copyright © 2010)
Rico Austin PhD
Austin Boys = pictured behind their trailer on Canal St. in Marsing, ID; first day of school August 1976, last picture they were all together; Pictured youngest to oldest, Steven - age 9, Samuel - age 11 , MIchael - age 13, David - age 15, Rico - age 16;
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