There were many a memorable Christmas, for good or for bad, but a few stand out as exceptional.
One year, I desperately wanted a real guitar. I wanted to learn how to play and be a rock and roll star at 12 years of age. My younger sister preferred to be more frugal in her desires and fell in love with a stuffed hippo doll named Hilda. We both looked forward to Christmas in the hopes or receiving these two sought after items.
Unbeknownst to my sister, I learned the folks managed to get her Hilda and hid it up in the top shelf of the closet. She definitely would be surprised on Christmas morn as I still hoped to be. I was a bit concerned because snooping around the house, I found no evidence of a hidden guitar.
The folks were already up as I stirred from my bed Christmas morning. “Santa’s been here!” they exclaimed. “I’ll be right there,” I said as I rolled out of bed and onto the floor to find my slippers. My folks in the other room gasped as I looked under the bed and instead of my slippers saw a large wrapped box. They were hiding it until the end of the gift unwrapping frenzy soon to take place. “That kid never looked under his bed!” my father grumbled.
There was a look of disappointment on their faces as I put on my slippers and walked into the living room adjacent to my bedroom. But within a few moments I had actually forgotten about the box under the bed as the family gathered by the tree and presents were meted out to each of us.
There were toys and clothes galore and soon the dust (or should I say Christmas wrap) had settled as we kids sat among our new additions to the toy box. My father then said, “Aren’t you gonna get your gift from under the bed?” My face lit up and I hurried to the bedroom stating, “I forgot about that!” I pulled out the box, brought it into the living room and proceeded to unwrap my very own Sears six string acoustic guitar. I was very happy.
Over in the corner sat my sister who was not happy at all. She looked forlorn and mom asked her what what wrong. “I didn’t get my Hilda!” she said woefully. I looked at my parents and they looked at each other. They had forgotten to remove Hilda from the closet!
Dad got up and went into the girls room and emerged with a brown bag. “I am sorry,” he told my sister, “we totally forgot about this present.” He handed the bag to my sister who reached in and pulled out Hilda the Hippo in her little tutu. Her sorrow turned to joy as she spent the rest of the morning talking and playing with her new found and much anticipated buddy.
I enjoyed my guitar for years. Actually took lessons for a while until I began to self teach myself the music I wanted to play. After all, most rock and roll was three, maybe four chords at the most, and I wound up playing rhythm rather than notes.
My sister kept Hilda 60 years. It had, no doubt, special meaning to her as I was surprised in a nostalgic and warm way, that Hilda was there in her house until the day my sister died.
Perhaps my little sister will be happier in Eternity with her life long companion Hilda in her arm.
