Christmas 1947

Dear Joanie,   

 I longed for two things that Christmas in 1947, when I was eight years old: A bicycle and a birthstone ring, an opal, the gem for October births. We had moved to Corpus Christi, Texas. (Everyone I knew in Corpus Christi was well aware that we were living in the Body of Christ, and we were thrilled by that.) I desperately (I thought) needed a bicycle so that I could ride to school like the other kids and also so I could explore beyond my neighborhood. In other words, I longed for mobility.

Schwinn Bicycle ca. 1947

 

Yet, I had become aware that the birthstone for October was an opal. I had asked for an opal ring, which would have been my first piece of real jewelry, other than the little strings I'd tie around my wrist from time to time.  I could just imagine a shimmering opal on my small finger. I think for me, it actually became more of a birthright than a birthstone, I was so eager to get it.

 

Opal Ring, October Birthstone

    A month or so before Christmas, I announced to my parents that's what I wanted: a bicycle and a birthstone ring. And the response I got? "You have to chose one. You can have one thing for Christmas, but not two. Let us know pretty soon."

    What agony for an eight-year-old! I lost sleep over trying to make the decision. Mother and Daddy kept asking, and, of course, they needed to know, but for the longest, I couldn't decide. After a week or maybe even two, I announced, sadly and close to tears, that I had chosen the bicycle. I had gone back and forth, but finally chosen the freedom of mobility. The birthstone ring faded into the background, but with the sorrow only an eight-year-old, who has not yet known real sorrow, can feel.

    On Christmas morning, there beside the tree, was the Schwinn I had asked for. It was clearly second hand, with rust on its fenders and a handle bar that needed tightening. It was clear to me I had made the right choice, and I couldn't wait to get it outside and start my riding through the neighborhood. But I had to wait for Patsy to open her presents, most likely clothes, and for Karol to open hers, most likely a baby doll. 

    I was a bit annoyed that Mother and Daddy were standing by the tree watching expectantly. I wanted Mother to begin making our traditional Christmas morning pancakes. I wanted the morning to get moving! But there they stood, looking at me, until Mother said, "Why don't you check the basket on your bike?"

    It looked fine to me, but I walked over to check it out, and there, in the corner, was a tiny box. Before I took it out, I knew what it was. I carefully unwrapped it to find the most beautiful opal ring any eight-year-old could have hoped for.

    I could have wept with gratitude. As young as I was, I knew that our circumstances had changed. I knew that money was tight, and it hadn't escaped me that my parents pored over their checkbooks and accounts at the dining room table late at night. 

    You haven't seen a happier eight-year-old on a rusty old Schwinn bike, crepe paper streaming from the handle bars and cardboard in the spokes, riding gloriously up and down the streets of Corpus Christi, Texas, with a opal ring shimmering on her tiny finger. 

Love,

GG Katie