Everybody Has a Story: Parents’ gifts to kids warmed like no others

I grew up in a high mountain valley in Idaho. The kids’ rooms were upstairs. The wood stove was downstairs with no vents. The girls’ room had French doors, and the snow would blow under them and remain a soft, white, cold mound until spring. We had flannel PJs, flannel sheets and a pile of bedding.

You sat by the fire until you were hot, then sprinted upstairs and tried to warm the bed before you got cold. The big thing was the hot water bottle. There was only one, and there was always a fight over which child got it. If you won the battle, you filled it with hot water, ran upstairs and put it in your bed. Then you casually came back down and sat by the wood stove, then sprinted upstairs to a warm bed, chortling about the fate of your cold sibs.

The town population was 610. We had no movie theater, roller rink, dance hall or doctor’s office. We did have one bar, one restaurant, a sawmill, a general store, a drug store, two gas stations, a bus depot, two hotels, three churches and a hot springs out of town.

Winter was long, hard and glorious. The first snow fell in October and stayed in patches in the fields until mid-April. The high temperatures during December, January and February were in the 30s, and the lows occasionally down at 40 below. The windows in most of the houses were etched with beautiful patterns of frost. Icicles hung as long as your arm.

The big winter event was the Christmas play. It was held in the gym and the whole community turned out. It featured short stories and plays by the elementary kids plus a rhythm band, where the kids dressed in homemade uniforms and marched around, humming into their instruments while a record played. Older kids who had talent would sing or play the piano. Sometimes community members would provide a musical number. At the end of the program (what rapture!), Santa would pompously come down the aisles of folding chairs, handing out stockings with real oranges and ribbon candy and those horrible cone-shaped filled chocolates.

Our family really had no money. Toys, games and other frivolities were not common. But we were not neglected: I had my horses, my brother had his model airplanes, and there was a lot of work to keep us occupied.

However, Christmas was special. We got presents! In November, the Sears and Montgomery Ward Christmas catalogs arrived. We were entranced by the variety of dolls, chemistry sets, model trains, small stoves, colored pencil sets, games and other items we’d never seen before. We totally enveloped ourselves in the myriad options. By early December, we had hinted about our real hearts’ desires.

As the magic date of Dec. 25 approached, presents began to appear. We each made our own separate pile and lifted, shook, felt and even tried to read under the wrapping paper. Three of the presents were identical, and Mom and Dad intrigued us with comments: “No it’s not something you wanted, but you’ll like it. Yes, all of them are the same. No, it’s nothing you ever thought of. No, you really won’t be disappointed, it will make you happy. And finally, yes, it has the power to prevent family fights.”

We searched again through the catalogs, prodded and bent the packages, but could come up with no clue as to what this marvelous present was. Christmas morning, we opened our stockings (which included cans of black olives and mandarin oranges and Archie and Little Lulu comic books). But that was all we could open before breakfast and the Bible reading of the Christmas story. Finally it was “tear the wrapping off time” and we tore into those three mysterious packages.

Hot water bottles!

Can a child of today, who receives iPhones and drones and video games and all the other enticements of the 21st century, imagine our joy? It was beyond the silver comb or watch fob in “The Gift of the Magi.” It was home, it was warm, it was parents who could look beyond a doll or truck and see what was really important, even if the kids didn’t realize it until they got it. God bless all parents who realize that and all children who appreciate it. Every bed needs a hot water bottle.

Everybody has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions, 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. Email is the best way to send materials so we don’t have to retype your words or borrow original photos. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA, 98666. Call “Everybody Has an Editor” Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions.