BETHLEHEM, Pa. — The years pass in a blur — from crib to crayons to puppy love to parenting to life’s back 9.
Childhood Christmas memories, once instantly recognizable even in a London fog, devolve into a gallery of confounding Rorschach prints.
"Santa brought me a football and a Monopoly game when I was 7? Um, I think it was 8; no, 7. Maybe I was 8. Wait, it might have been a basketball and Twister that year. Uh, now I’m not sure."
"Oh, and I’ll never forget the Christmas I enjoyed building cabins with the box of Lincoln Logs Santa brought. I was 6. No, maybe 7. Or was that the year I got an erector set? Yeah, my little brother got the Lincoln Logs that year. Or was it my cousin who lived next door? Not sure. It’s been so long."
The years pass, the details fade. The mists of time become an ice-crusted window pane between yesterday and today.
But there are those Christmases that remain clear and crisp as a cold Nebraska night.
The coolest bike in kid-dom
I was 11 on Christmas 1968. Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy were taken from us that year and the Big Mac and the Beatles’ White Album were presented to us.
So, too, was the coolest bike in kid-dom — the Schwinn Sting-Ray Krate.
Debuting that year, the Krates were the boldest Sting Rays — styled after funny cars, with a wide, slick rear tire; a smaller front wheel with a narrower tire; and features such as a five-speed stick shift, springer suspension fork, suspended banana seat, front drum brake, rear rim brake and bright paint.
But I was aware enough, even at age 11, to not dare ask for one that I knew we couldn’t afford.
The Krates were called Apple Krate and Orange Krate. I wanted the red one.
One problem: My blue-collar family didn’t have the green. Color me disappointed.
The bike cost $87 back then, equivalent to the purchasing power of nearly $790 today.
Two close friends had Apple Krates. We’d ride our bikes throughout the neighborhood; me grinding on a ’62 Rambler-of-a-bike flanked by little red Corvettes.
My parents knew how cool I thought my friends’ Krates were. I talked about them every chance I had as December rolled around.
But I was aware enough, even at age 11, to not dare ask for one that I knew we couldn’t afford.
A disappointing discovery?
Two weeks before Christmas, I was in our basement rooting around for one thing or another. I looked in the far corner of the room.
Hmm … what’s underneath that big white sheet?
I walked toward it. My heart raced — hoping, wishing, near praying without hitting my knees.
I peeked under the sheet. It was a bike. But not the bike. I was crestfallen.
I peeked under the sheet. It was a bike.
But not the bike.
I was crestfallen.
Christmas morning arrived. Santa had delivered a haul. Presents littered the bottom of the tree. My little brother and I sat on the floor together and opened our gifts.
Balls and games and clothes were everywhere. The opening had come to a close.
As my father and mother sat together on the couch, he called to me.
“Philip, I think you have one more gift over there under that big sheet,” he said.
I got to my feet and sighed. I trudged over and pulled off the sheet.
It was the Apple Krate.
My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. I don’t remember saying anything; I don’t think I could have. I was paralyzed.
I glanced at my father. He smiled, winked and nodded.
A memory returns
Dad knew he got me good. He knew I’d snoop. He knew I’d look under that sheet in the basement.
So he had arranged with a friend who was the manager of a store in town to use the cheaper bike as a prop in the basement and kept the Krate at my grandparents’ house until Christmas Eve.
Being a father today, and having seen the smiles on my young children on Christmas morning, I know my reaction then was worth the world to him.
Oh, the lengths parents will go to make their children happy.
It wasn’t until years later that I learned how my parents were able to afford the bike. For several weeks before Christmas, after working hard at his regular job all week, my father helped my carpenter uncle on weekends to make extra money.
Oh, the lengths parents will go to make their children happy.
I was reminded of this Christmas memory while reporting on a local project that assembled and supplied free bicycles to needy children in the Lehigh Valley.
I can imagine the joy on their faces when they get their bikes.
I can imagine it because I remember mine, even after all these years.
Still clear as a cold Nebraska night.
