A Lesson Learned

Christmas of 1945 was approaching, and all I could think about was how much I wanted a bike. At age eight, I thought that if I didn't get one, I would never be happy again. We lived in Findlay, Ohio, then, where my dad was pastor of a church that was right beside our house. I started giving hints to my parents soon after my birthday in November about how I needed a bike to run errands for Mom. I knew already that my dad was our Santa Claus.

When my hints were largely ignored, I started being extra prompt to do whatever Mom or Dad told me to, even washing dishes, without complaining. I was nice to my big brother and offered to take care of my little sister and baby brother. When it didn't look like my "being good" act was working, I resorted to begging. "All my friends have bikes. They go off and leave me without anybody to play with while they have fun riding around."

Dad took me on his knee to explain, "Jean, we would love to get you a bike for Christmas, but the war has just ended, and lots of things are scarce, making prices sky high.
Also, we have to get presents, too, for your brothers and sister. But I knew my dad liked to make me happy, and I just felt sure that, come Christmas morning, there would be a bike for me beside the tree.

I was excited when I woke up on Christmas, just thinking about what a great time I was going to have with my new bike. I raced to the living room, where the presents were, but there was no bike there. Instead, I got a doll . . . a doll! I didn't want a doll. Also, there was a big Bible story book to share with my siblings. I cried and complained and pouted. My grandmother said, "I'm ashamed of you, Jean. There are so many little children in the world who won't get anything for Christmas, and here you are showing your 'ugly self. You're an ungrateful little girl. Now go outside and play with your brother."

Big brother and I went outdoors and took my new doll with us. We pulled off the doll's dress, then her head and arms and legs, and played with the rubber body. It was about the right size for a football, and we threw passes to each other until the doll's body fell into the sewer. That was okay with me, though I knew I was going to have a hard time explaining what had happened to my present.

When we went into the sumptuous dinner my mother and grandmother had prepared, I still had my lip poked out. I pretended that I didn't want anything to eat, but Ma's mashed potatoes and gravy and Mom's chocolate pie were just more than I could resist.

Still in a sullen mood, I reluctantly helped with the dishes. When I heard Mom and Dad whispering in the living room, I crept up behind them to hear what they were saying. Mom said, "John, I don't think we should give it to her today after the way she's been acting."
Dad said, "Ah, Elsie, it's Christmas, and I can't wait for her to get it."

I looked past them out the front window and saw a fellow stop his pick-up truck at our front yard. He got out and lifted a bike out of the back of the truck. It was a beautiful blue bike, exactly what I had wanted. I had a lump that felt bigger than a baseball in my throat. That was the moment I determined I would never act like a spoiled brat again. I'm sure that there have been many times after that in which I showed what Ma called my "ugly self," but I don't remember ever acting in such an ungrateful way again. I do remember that day as the unhappiest-happiest day of my life.