The Sock

I was born at home March 18, 1949. Don't think we could afford the hospital and don't really remember the day of the week or the time. The last of seven children, Momma named me after one of my older sister's boyfriends...Harold Stephen Brooks. Sis never even married the ole boy, but I got stuck for life with a first name I have done my best to conceal. Just don't like it! But, I do love Stephen. So, if you don't mind...

From what I understand, I was a sickly child. Pretty much doomed to death by the doctors. Seems, I was allergic to milk...all kinds. The cow didn't work. Neither did the goat! Yep, breast milk was ruled out pretty much from the beginning. According to Momma and "Deddy," (that's what I called my dad), I tried that variety from every available source, too. Anyway, as you can see, I survived...by drinking something made from soy. Beats me, but I'm glad I made it!

When I was five, we moved out in the country to the farm. I think Deddy had always dreamed of having a piece of land he could call his own. So, our lives consisted of he and Momma getting up at five in the morning in order to be at work by six at a textile mill back in town. Since they normally got home around 3:00 or so, we then "farmed" until dark. I learned to milk cows, herd bulls, ride horses (when I wasn't getting bucked off), raise chickens, and make a garden. I even had a pet rooster named Bumper, but I'll leave that memory for another day. Very early, I learned how much I love to plant and grow stuff. To this day, I enjoy eating the fruits of labor from my homegrown garden. Gotta get back to that, again, real soon.

Somewhere along the way, I got the notion we were poor. Perhaps, because we ate a lot of pinto beans and Momma's homemade "cathead" biscuits. But, to borrow a thought from comedian Dick Gregory, we were "not poor, just broke." Didn't have a lot of money, but we certainly were not poor!

Hence, my reason for writing this story. You knew I would evetually get around to it, didn't you?

Christmas was always really special to me. One of my chores was to wander the farm and cut down the prettiest cedar tree I could find, drag it back to the house, cross two boards and nail them to the bottom, and stand it in the living room as our Christmas tree. Many years later, I tried those high dollar frasier firs (and they are beautiful), but nothing can ever replace the smell of fresh cedar. It's aroma traveled throughout our old farmhouse as readily as the smell of the fatback Momma cooked on the woodburning stove in the kitchen.

Anticipation filled the air on Christmas Eve. I hated to go to bed for fear of missing Santa Claus. I would lie awake for hours trying to hear the sound of Rudolph and the other reindeer on the tinroof. Since we didn't have heat in the house, I nestled deeply down into the feather tick mattress, pulled the many homemade quilts over my head, and finally drifted off to sleep.

I would awaken Christmas morning and immediately glance down at the foot of my bed. And there it would be...the sock. A carefully crafted knot kept the contents from erupting like the mighty volcano pictured in my young mind. I couldn't wait to dig in! Inside,would be a perfectly shined apple, an orange as bright as the setting sun, a peppermint stick or two, a variety of nuts (shelling the walnuts always drove me crazy!), several pieces of chocolate covered coconut candy, and sometimes a handkerchief. Maybe, this gift explains why I always keep a clean "hankie" in my pocket for ladies who may cry. Yes, there were some other trinkets included. Maybe, even a new pair of socks.

The point of this brief story is to share with you this beautiful truth. The simplest of gifts often have the most meaning and have an everlasting impact on our lives. The sum total of all of the costly gifts I have received throughout my sixty plus years cannot add up to the childhood joy of seeing this sock full of goodies on an early Christmas morning. In fact, I believe it's time for me to start preparing some socks, stuffed full to overflowing, for next Friday, the 25th!

Let the celebration of this Christmas bring you love, joy, peace, and many great memories like the sock. Be blessed--

~Stephen (sEb)