Being both young and ignorant of such matters as time zones, International Date Lines and logistics, it had not previously occurred to me that one rotund man in a sleigh with a maximum hauling capacity of a Ford F100 pickup and powered by eight wingless mammals could handle the distribution of gifts to every child in the world at precisely midnight on Christmas Eve—although I did realize the world was large and had to contain at least a couple hundred kids at any given time. Seeing those long boxes hustled into the car made me do some serious thinking. I had no proof of anything at that time, but the events of that day raised my suspicions.
YES, JEFF, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS ... SORT OF When Christmas morning finally arrived, I sprang to my feet before daylight and quickly woke my brothers. We ran into the living room to see if, once again, we had been restocked with things boys desperately need. Sure enough, all around that big red cedar, which we had chopped down in the woods just a few days before, there were colorful packages piled everywhere—four different piles, one for each of us.
AFTER THAT DAY, MY CHRISTMAS LIST NO LONGER LOOKED LIKE A DEFENSE DEPARTMENT BUDGET REQUEST.
We tore open box after box containing such useless things as socks, underwear and Sunday shirts; we also had packages with toys and stockings with goodies: oranges, apples, peppermint candy and such. I had temporarily forgotten about my request for a shotgun, but I happened to glance over behind the tree. Standing against the wall were two long boxes.
CONCEALED
Almost knocking down the tree to drag them out, my older brother and I tore them open to discover two, brand-new Stevens Model 95 20-gauge, single-shot shotguns. Strangely, they were identical to the ones we had seen on sale a couple of weeks prior at Grandpa’s. Yeah, I was a bit slow, but all the pieces were falling together, and I knew for certain my loving Mom and Dad had been supplying the magic of fulfilling a boy’s dreams. I lost the fantasy of a kid’s Christmas that morning but gained a greater respect for those two people who raised me and my brothers.
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After that day, my Christmas list no longer looked like a Defense Department budget request. From then on, I never put in a request, leaving gift choices up to my parents. I still have that old, single-shot Stevens. It is well worn and was refinished by me many years ago. It is worth almost nothing, but no man on Earth has enough money to buy that old gun. Since that Christmas morning almost a half-century ago, I have accumulated many long boxes, but none will ever mean as much to me as my first long box on that Christmas morning. www.gunworld.com
CONFIDENCE
Jeff Quinn is a full-time writer/ reviewer on Gunblast.com, an online gun magazine started in 2000. He has also written for the Gun Digest Annual and enjoys living life in the woods of Tennessee, where he raises Longhorn cattle … and his grandkids.
DECEMBER I 2017
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