Tag: christmas

An Older Brother’s Gift

By Ada Foy

It was the Christmas season of 1994.  Nine-year-old Jaron and his six-year-old brother, Parker, were excited.  They had entered a reading contest sponsored by a grocery store in their hometown.  The two students who read the most books would each win a brand-new bicycle.  All they had to do was have their parents and teachers sign for each book they read.  Two bikes were to be awarded, one for the first-to-third grade levels, and one for the fourth-to-sixth grade levels.

Parker was especially excited because this was a way for him to earn a bike.  He really wanted one.  He was tired of watching his older brother ride around on the new purple ten-speed bike he had earned by working at a yard sale.  Parker thought that it would be great to earn a bike of his own by reading books.  So he started to read books as fast as he could.  He read Curious George, Green Eggs and Ham, and Brown Bear, Brown Bear.  But no matter how many books he read, someone in his grade level had read more.

Meanwhile, Jaron had not been all that enthusiastic about the contest.  When he went to the grocery store and checked the big chart with all the readers listed and how many books each had read, however, he could see that his younger brother had little chance of winning the contest.

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A Christmas Adventure

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!”

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her “world-famous” cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so.

It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus?” She snorted….”Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”

“Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

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Waiting…..Waiting for Christmas

by Elizabeth English

Herman and I finally locked our store and dragged ourselves home.  It was 11 p.m. Christmas Eve.  We’d sold almost all of our toys; and all of the layaway, except one package, had been picked up.  But the person who had put a dollar down on that package never appeared.

Early Christmas morning our 12 year old son, Tom, Herman and I were out under the tree opening up gifts.  But there was something humdrum about this Christmas.  Tom was grown up, and I missed his childish exuberance of past years.  As soon as breakfast was over, he left to visit friends and Herman disappeared into the bedroom, mumbling, “I’m going back to sleep.”

So there I was alone.  It was nearly 9 a.m.  Sleet mixed with snow cut the air outside.  “Sure glad I don’t have to go out on a day like today,” I thought to myself.  And then it began—something I’d never experienced before.  A strange, persistent urge.  “Go to the store,” it seemed to say.

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Twas the Night Before Christmas a Long Time Ago

‘Twas the first night of Christmas a long time ago,
The hillside was peaceful, the moon was aglow.
The world couldn’t know from what happened before,
That men would remember this night evermore.

The sheep on the hillside—their days journey over,
Were dreaming sweet dreams of a field full of clover.
The shepherds were watchful while guarding their flock,
The earth was their pillow, the stars were their clock.

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A Boy Learns a Lesson

by Thomas S. Monson

In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I longed for an electric train.  The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad purchased for me a lovely electric train.

Christmas morning bright and early, I thrilled when I noticed my train.  The next few hours were devoted to operating the transformer and watching the engine pull its cars forward—then backward around the track.

Mother said that she had purchased a wind-up train for Widow Hansen’s boy, Mark, who lived down the lane at Gale Street.  As I looked at his train, I noted a tanker car which I much admired.  I put up such a fuss that my mother succumbed to my pleadings and gave me the tanker car.  I put it with my train set and felt pleased.

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The Man Who Missed Christmas

by J. Edgar Park

It was Christmas Eve; and, as usual, George Mason was the last to leave the office.  He walked over to a massive safe, spun the dials, swung the heavy door open.  Making sure the door would not close behind him, he stepped inside.

A square of white cardboard was taped just above the topmost row of strongboxes.  On the card a few words were written.  George Mason stared at those words, remembering…..

Exactly one year ago he had entered this self-same vault.  And then, behind his back, slowly, noiselessly, the ponderous door swung shut.  He was trapped—entombed in the sudden and terrifying dark.

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A Brother Like That

A friend of mine named Paul received a new car from his brother as a pre-Christmas present.  On Christmas Eve, when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.

“Is this your car, mister?” he asked.

Paul nodded.  “My brother gave it to me for Christmas.”

The boy looked astounded.  “You mean your brother gave it to you, and it didn’t cost you anything?  Gosh, I wish…..”

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