brian1961
12-27-2015, 04:43 PM
THE FOLLOWING IS A STORY I CLIPPED OUT OF MY LOCAL PAPER A BIT OVER 40 YEARS AGO:
It's entitled, "A Christmas story . . . on Dec. 26"
by Paul Logan
Associate Sports Editor
Elk Grove Herald (Elk Grove Village, Illinois) Thursday, December 26, 1974, Section 4, Page 1
It was a typical day-after-Christmas argument over toys that inspired the story.
The father stepped between his youngsters, changing the subject with one simple question:
"Do you remember the day you got your first baseball glove?"
"Yeah!" they fired back.
"Well, what if you only had it a day and then it was gone?"
"No way!" said one. "I'd never let it out of my sight," said the other.
Thus started a little tale that happened long ago to their father when he was just a boy of 10.
Since in was the height of the Depression, little Al and his family weren't expecting much for Christmas. Being the youngest of six children, the best he could count on would be something to wear and a chicken drumstick for dinner--if he was extra good.
Unknown to Al and his sisters, his father managed to find some extra work. With the extra dollars, he bought both a practical present and a toy for each child.
Al was a very stocky boy. Because of his size, he was always the catcher in neighborhood baseball games. Some of his teammates used their old gloves or their older brothers. Others went without.
Since Al only inherited feminine things from his five sisters, he used his winter gloves behind the plate. The dream of his life was a mitt. But he never thought he'd ever own one.
His parents gave him a new pair of winter gloves first. Then -- to his surprise -- came a brand new baseball glove!
He pressed it to his face, smelling the fresh leather. All that day he and the mitt were inseparable. No happier boy walked the earth that Christmas.
The next day his mother asked a favor of him. A mother of a boy down the street had called to see if Al could drop by. Her son, Mike, was very ill.
Now Al didn't like Mike very much. He was the strongest, most talented athlete in his class. And because of this, Mike told the lesser players what to do. Al resented this. Still, he went to visit him.
There had been no Christmas at Mike's house. Weeks of doctor bills had taken all the extra money. No presents had been exchanged.
Mike was too weak to raise his head when Al entered his room. His voice was hardly audible. The sickness had taken its toll of his once muscular body. Now only a limp, weak one remained.
Having been told of Mike's troubles was one thing; seeing his sickly condition was almost too much. Al's dislike for Mike vanished.
He wanted to do something for his newly-found friend, but he didn't know what. His visit seemed to perk him up. Still, Mike---normally an outgoing Irishman--hardly smiled. It would take more than a few kind words to lift his spirit.
While Al was trying to think of a way, his eyes met his mitt, hanging from his belt. He had forgotten to show it to Mike, what with being so overwhelmed with his terrible condition. Mike hadn't noticed it either, for his vision had been affected, too.
It was a tough decision for Al to make. The glove meant so much to him. Still, it was the only thing he could give which would truly mean something to Mike. Besides, he could use his old winter gloves again next summer.
Apologizing for bringing his gift a day late and unwrapped, he proudly handed the glove to Mike.
A weak right hand accepted the present. Mike brought it close to his face to view it better. A wide smile spread across his face. Slowly he slide his left hand into the finger openings. Christmas had finally come for Mike. It was also the first new mitt he'd ever had.
The guilt of those many times he had been bossy to Al and his other classmates came flooding forth. Nobody had ever seen big Mike cry. But he sobbed with remorse. Mike thanked Al, and asked his forgiveness, and the tears started pouring out of Al as well.
As he left Mike's house, the good feelings he had overcame the loss of his beloved Christmas glove. Little did he know that the beautiful glove would be his again, for soon after that, his friend died.
The two youngsters slowly climbed down from their father's lap. The silly argument about their toys was forgotten. However, the memory of their Dad's story to them was never to be forgotten.
Somehow, Al had the feeling this story might be told again someday.
-------------------
I want to wish you all, and I truly do mean all of you, a very merry Christmas, and the very best for each of you in 2016. God bless you. ---Brian Powell
It's entitled, "A Christmas story . . . on Dec. 26"
by Paul Logan
Associate Sports Editor
Elk Grove Herald (Elk Grove Village, Illinois) Thursday, December 26, 1974, Section 4, Page 1
It was a typical day-after-Christmas argument over toys that inspired the story.
The father stepped between his youngsters, changing the subject with one simple question:
"Do you remember the day you got your first baseball glove?"
"Yeah!" they fired back.
"Well, what if you only had it a day and then it was gone?"
"No way!" said one. "I'd never let it out of my sight," said the other.
Thus started a little tale that happened long ago to their father when he was just a boy of 10.
Since in was the height of the Depression, little Al and his family weren't expecting much for Christmas. Being the youngest of six children, the best he could count on would be something to wear and a chicken drumstick for dinner--if he was extra good.
Unknown to Al and his sisters, his father managed to find some extra work. With the extra dollars, he bought both a practical present and a toy for each child.
Al was a very stocky boy. Because of his size, he was always the catcher in neighborhood baseball games. Some of his teammates used their old gloves or their older brothers. Others went without.
Since Al only inherited feminine things from his five sisters, he used his winter gloves behind the plate. The dream of his life was a mitt. But he never thought he'd ever own one.
His parents gave him a new pair of winter gloves first. Then -- to his surprise -- came a brand new baseball glove!
He pressed it to his face, smelling the fresh leather. All that day he and the mitt were inseparable. No happier boy walked the earth that Christmas.
The next day his mother asked a favor of him. A mother of a boy down the street had called to see if Al could drop by. Her son, Mike, was very ill.
Now Al didn't like Mike very much. He was the strongest, most talented athlete in his class. And because of this, Mike told the lesser players what to do. Al resented this. Still, he went to visit him.
There had been no Christmas at Mike's house. Weeks of doctor bills had taken all the extra money. No presents had been exchanged.
Mike was too weak to raise his head when Al entered his room. His voice was hardly audible. The sickness had taken its toll of his once muscular body. Now only a limp, weak one remained.
Having been told of Mike's troubles was one thing; seeing his sickly condition was almost too much. Al's dislike for Mike vanished.
He wanted to do something for his newly-found friend, but he didn't know what. His visit seemed to perk him up. Still, Mike---normally an outgoing Irishman--hardly smiled. It would take more than a few kind words to lift his spirit.
While Al was trying to think of a way, his eyes met his mitt, hanging from his belt. He had forgotten to show it to Mike, what with being so overwhelmed with his terrible condition. Mike hadn't noticed it either, for his vision had been affected, too.
It was a tough decision for Al to make. The glove meant so much to him. Still, it was the only thing he could give which would truly mean something to Mike. Besides, he could use his old winter gloves again next summer.
Apologizing for bringing his gift a day late and unwrapped, he proudly handed the glove to Mike.
A weak right hand accepted the present. Mike brought it close to his face to view it better. A wide smile spread across his face. Slowly he slide his left hand into the finger openings. Christmas had finally come for Mike. It was also the first new mitt he'd ever had.
The guilt of those many times he had been bossy to Al and his other classmates came flooding forth. Nobody had ever seen big Mike cry. But he sobbed with remorse. Mike thanked Al, and asked his forgiveness, and the tears started pouring out of Al as well.
As he left Mike's house, the good feelings he had overcame the loss of his beloved Christmas glove. Little did he know that the beautiful glove would be his again, for soon after that, his friend died.
The two youngsters slowly climbed down from their father's lap. The silly argument about their toys was forgotten. However, the memory of their Dad's story to them was never to be forgotten.
Somehow, Al had the feeling this story might be told again someday.
-------------------
I want to wish you all, and I truly do mean all of you, a very merry Christmas, and the very best for each of you in 2016. God bless you. ---Brian Powell