Blogger: Wendy Lawton
Location: Books & Such Central Valley Office, CA
Though I grew up in a family of modest means, my mother knew that Christmas was a magical time and she worked hard to make sure she had wonderful gifts under the tree for my brothers, sisters and me. We had a large family —cobbled together by birth, adoption and foster care—so we might have any number of children around the tree. We now count seven permanent siblings, though all told we had more than fifty pre-adoptive babies that were part of our family over the twenty-five years my parents fostered children. Because of this large family, it must have been a challenge for my parents to manage the perfect gift for each one of us.
I’ll never forget the year my sister Linda and I wanted the life-size Playpal dolls. Toy companies had just begun to discover the power of “as seen on TV” advertising and the Ideal Toy Company was no exception. As we watched our favorite Saturday morning television shows– Roy Rogers and Sky King were my favorites– we’d see the advertisements for these amazing dolls. They were as big as a real child! When we told Mom we wanted the dolls, she asked if we knew how much they cost. We only lived five or six city blocks from Mission Street in San Francisco, so the two of us took a research trip downtown. (Can you imagine two little girls running around the Mission district alone these days? We did it all the time back then.) The dolls were $24.00 each. It might have been a thousand dollars. When one could buy a Miss Merry play kit for ninety-nine cents, $24.00 was a sobering amount.
We still dreamed about those dolls but never mentioned it again. When Christmas Eve came and we both found huge boxes under the tree, we hardly dared hope but as we began unwrapping, we knew. Patty Playpal was the largest of the Playpal dolls, but my sister got Penny Playpal, the two-year old size doll and I received Bonnie Playpal, the doll that was supposedly the size of a three-month old. I don’t know if I ever had a more beloved gift. For as long as we played with those dolls, we called them our twenty-four-dollar dolls.
Did you ever receive a gift that seemed impossible?
Like you, Wendy, we grew up in difficult financial circumstances. My father died when I was six weeks old, leaving my mother with three small chlidren. When the Betsy-Wetsy dolls became popular, my sister and I wanted them so much we could taste it. On Christmas morning we found those beloved dolls under the tree along with the little suitcases with clothing inside. It wasn’t until we were adults that Mom told us those weren’t genuine Betsy dolls. She’d found ‘knock-offs’ at a discount store, and then she puchased little suitcases and made the clothing at night on her treadle sewing machine. We never knew the difference. Learning what she had done to make us happy as well as meet the needs of our little family made me love those dolls all the more. It still brings tears to my eyes to think of the lengths she went to in order to give her children a memorable Christmas.
Judy, I love this story! How much more precious that she made the clothes herself.
Betsy Wetsy! I received a Betsy Wetsy doll for Christmas one year too. I guess my parents had little trouble figuring out what to buy me each year for a fair number of Christmases. I can hear my parents’ discussion now, “We’ll buy Janet a doll…”
I am a huge Detroit Red Wings fan and my favorite player when I was in High School was Kozlov. There was a store that carried some signed jerseys by Red Wings and one of them was Kozlov’s. I used to drive or walk there (often with my dad–my Wings watching buddy) and stare at the jersey. I would announce that I was saving up my tips from the ice cream shop where I worked to purchase the game sweater. I just still wanted it to be there when I had earned the $220.
On Christmas morning we opened our gifts. I was happy with everything I’d received, and always so thankful for such a wonderful family for whom I could buy the perfect gifts.
Every year we would get a gift or two from Santa, of course, for the whole family. They were typically games we could play together. My sister opened Backgammon, I opened the Kozlov jersey. I was so happy I cried. And my dad has the picture to prove it.
Years later, whenever I don that loved and used jersey, I still remember that amazing Christmas morning, and all the surprise and love I felt because my parents bought me a gift purely because they knew I would love it. Purely because they love me.
When I was little, my mom made a set of doll clothes for my favorite baby doll. She put in a small line of clothesline and doll clothspins. All of this was put on top of a bed for my baby (a small wicker basket lined with a chushion). I played with this for years. One of the best gifts ever. I can’t imagine how long it took her to make each of the tiny outfits, weeks I’m sure.
One year things were particularly tight. We had just moved and the walls of my room were bare. That year I received an inexpensive reproduction of an oil painting. My parents put it in a homemade frame made out of left over door jam trim.
The picture and the frame are worthless, but the love behind them is priceless. Some four decades later that picture hangs in my office.
What wonderful stories, everyone. One year, my dad made a doll house from a kit. I don’t know what possessed him to do it, as he was not a handy person by any means, but I watched him put it together in the basement, knowing at some point it would be mine.
It wasn’t stunningly beautiful like the ones you often see now, but that he took the time to create something just for me was very special.
The year my sister and I had measles and mumps at the same time for Christmas, we also received our most memorable gifts–Rice Krispies dolls. The dolls and wardrobe of clothing options came with box tops from the cereal. We ate a lot of Rice Krispies. I’m not sure my folks had to pay anything other than the box tops and the postage, but they were treasures to us. Thinking about it now, I can almost hear our fevered screams of joy.
Man, I love these stories!
When I was in high school, my sister and I received sizable allowances (very different from our early childhood!), out of which we paid for our own shoes, gas, most of our clothes, makeup, entertainment, etc. Not a bad parenting strategy, as it taught us how to manage our money and prioritize the things we wanted and the things we really needed. In fact, I’d become so good at being practical, I couldn’t bring myself to fork over the cash for a pair of expensive shoes I was dying to have.
I don’t even remember how much they cost, but the image of them is burned into my brain. Metallic silver Doc Marten boots. Yes, those look exactly how you’re picturing them, but I loved them and would visit them at the mall. Needless to say, I had an–er–unusual personal style and these fit right in with the rest of my wardrobe. I guess it might also go without saying that my ultra-conservative Southern belle of a mother didn’t appreciate my dark lipstick, bottle-black hair, and the chains that often substituted for real jewelry. Yes, there were also copious amounts of glitter and crushed velvet in my closet in those days.
Anyway, I almost died of shock the Christmas morning I was fifteen and I opened one large, heavy box to find the Doc Martens inside. No, not a pair of black combat boots that my mom could have more easily swallowed. The ridiculous silver ones in all their metallic glory. Tears unexpectedly strangled my voice when I looked at those boots, so much so that I could barely squeak out a thank-you. It was more than a pair of shoes. It was an attempt to understand me–a putting aside of what she wanted me to be and an acceptance of who I actually was. Best Christmas gift ever.
What a wonderful memory, Lindsay! I hope you still have those Doc Martens. (Wouldn’t it be fun if you rocked them at the next writer’s conference?)
BTW, writers, this is the kind of scene–the kind of characterization–that makes a novel come alive. With a few words, Lindsay has evoked a time, a place and emotions we can all connect with. (She must be a writer.)
Wendy, I think I have them in storage somewhere! 😉
I was 8 and my sister was 3 and we carried around the back cover to the Sears,Roebuck & Co. catalog for weeks (after it “fell” off. Bonnie Playpal was the doll we wanted. I remember her cost being $12.00 in the catalog. A sinful amount of money for poor farmer’s daughters but we really didn’t know that. My sister got many more dolls after that Christmas but Bonnie was my last baby doll and we each still have our Bonnies and they are still precious to us!