Ah, the last day of 2009. Time to make New Year’s resolutions to begin tomorrow morning. And don’t forget the black-eyed peas with dinner tomorrow to bring good luck throughout 2010.
This week Around Davidson features special guest writers from The Pines Retirement Community whose holiday essays were featured in the December issue of The Pinepost newsletter. Today, for Installment Two, we offer memories of a sled ride that could have had a much different ending, and some thoughts about Santa appearances. Enjoy the work of guest writers Ron Zerkle and Nyra Brannan.
THANKFUL FOR THE SLED ANGEL by Ron Zerkle
Ron Zerkle and his wife, Sandy, moved to one of the new Pines villas almost two years ago. They spent most of their married life in Cincinnati before trying retirement for five years in Naples, FL. At the urging of their son, Andrew, who lives in Charlotte, they came to Davidson and are delighted to be here. Ron is an avid golfer; Sandy loves to read and is a familiar face at the counter in our Habitat Restore location in Cornelius. The Zerkles have a second son in Los Alamos, NM, and a daughter in Princeton, NJ, plus seven grandchildren.
Reading Ron’s Christmas memory surely will bring back memories for each of us of those events in our lives that we dared not tell our parents! Asking Ron why he waited so long to tell his parents about his sledding, he replied that earlier he was afraid they would take away his sled and finally after 25 years, he figured he was too old for a thrashing.
Ron Zerkle will always be thankful for the guardian angel who watched over his childhood sledding mishap.
It was a cold wintry morning in Ohio, back in the days when we used to have blizzards. I was about eight years old and it was near the end of World War Two. It seemed that winter had been going on forever. There were snow banks everywhere. Car traffic had packed the snow on Kenwood Avenue, the street in front of our house, into a sheet of ice.
I put on my snowsuit and rubber boots and got my sled out of the garage. It was very early, very cold, and very quiet – no traffic anywhere. I decided to coast down the Kenwood hill, which began with a gentle slope in front of our house and ended two city blocks later with a steep grade at the intersection with Belmont Avenue.
As I sped toward the intersection, which had a blind view on the right, there suddenly loomed a slow-moving semi pulling a large trailer. There was no time to do anything – but pass under the trailer between the front and rear wheels.
The sled ride ended in a snow bank at the end of a driveway. I jumped up and ran back to the intersection. The truck had stopped about a hundred yards away. The driver was climbing out of his cab. We looked at each other and then I ran up the hill pulling my sled all the way home.
I didn’t tell my parents about the incident until a family gathering about twenty-five years later.
I remember shakily taking my boots and snowsuit off and thinking about a picture inside the cover of my second grade catechism book at the St. Joseph Parish School. It showed a toddler sitting on the ground playing with a large snake under the protection of a guardian angel.
Later I added the following prayer, called the Guardian Angel Prayer, to my bedtime routine:
“Angel of God, My Guardian Dear, to whom God’s love commits me here,
Ever this day be at my side, to light and guard and rule and guide.”
Amen.
YES, NYRA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS by Nyra Brannan
Nyra Brannan has lived at The Pines for the past nine years. She is a familiar face to many because of her support to those in need as well as her support of the Davidson College women’s basketball team. Nyra’s photo shows her hugging her BIG teddy bear which is a favorite of all the little children who come to visit. They hug the bear and Nyra hugs them!
Nyra Brannan remembers the joy of special Christmas gifts.
When I was a child, an honored tradition at many homes was to leave milk and cookies for Santa. Each Christmas morning, children would wake and rejoice across the land to find empty glasses and only crumbs on the cookie plates. Santa had snacked at their house!
During a time when my working mother was busy with cards, food, and gifts, she also was in charge of which milk, chocolate or white, which plate, and what kind of and how many cookies to leave for Santa on Christmas Eve. My younger brother, Norman, and I would watch and make our recommendations as she readied this traditional feast for our very special guest on this very special night.
Our parents suggested that he might be tired, so we got a blanket to spread over the sofa and the softest pillow of all for his head. Then, on Christmas morning, we joined in with the multitude of children squealing with joy at the signs left by the jolly night visitor.
However, one wonderfully special Christmas morning, in addition to the usual telltale evidence, low and behold Santa’s black boots were beside the couch where he must have left them after taking a nap. Santa Claus had left his boots at our house!
For days we were the envy of all in our neighborhood, at church, in the whole world, we just knew, and what repeated glory we received when we returned to school and were able to tell our story once again! It never occurred to us to wonder what Santa wore on his feet when he returned to his sleigh.
A few years later we found out that the boots belonged to a soldier at Camp Croft in Spartanburg, SC. My father had met him on a train ride to New York for a business trip. He became a very special friend to our family.
We were a comfortable middle-class family back then. In reflection, it amazes me at the great joy we received from the simplest gifts of a doll, a coloring book and crayons, and a stocking filled with oranges, apples, tangerines, kumquats, nuts and a little candy. Children today receive an excessive abundance of gifts and often forget one or two gifts when they are listing what all they received. Something to think about! How much is enough?
From my earliest days I remember that Christmas was a time to share with those less fortunate. Each year, my daddy called the hospital and found out how many children would be spending Christmas there. He brought a red wheelbarrow and filled it with a gift to delight each child. He had a ladies dress shop and carried Faberge perfume. I wonder in the 40’s and 50’s how may hospitalized teen-aged girls wore Woodhue Perfume from Daddy’s store – every one of my teachers did.
Daddy always brought and delivered a Christmas dinner to a poor family that lived in our area. I remember the joy on their faces when he took it to their door.
Our church, The First Presbyterian Church in Spartanburg, SC, had a White Gift Service to benefit the children at Thornwell Orphanage, in Clinton, SC. Our children drew a name, brought gifts for that child, and brought white muslin stockings or gift boxes wrapped in white paper, to the church. All the children’s choir angels sang beside the Holy Family, while shepherds and wise men slowly walked up the aisle of the church. The minister usually delivered a Christmas message. However, one year it was decided that one of the young people in our church would fill that role. My sixteen year old brother, Norman, was chosen. Mother and I sat on the front row of the balcony with tears in our eyes as we listened to him read the story, The Man Who Owned the Stable. Norman was killed in an accident when he was 40, and every Christmas at a quiet time, I read that story and with tear-filled eyes remember that special day and my very special brother.
As I share these reflections, I can say resoundingly, YES NYRA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS. He lies in the joy and love of families sharing with their children; in the beauty of children learning to share with others; in the wonder of the real Christmas Story; in the comfort of God’s love and presence replacing sadness deep within our hearts; and in hope turning to certainty in the promise brought through that Holy Child of the first Christmas.
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Have news for Brenda? Write to her at hbarger@bellsouth.net.
