It was 1962. We were in first grade, and it was Christmastime.
On Monday, Miss Moberley printed our names on slips of paper and placed them in a green basket. She walked the aisles between the desks, pausing at each desk for us to draw a piece of paper. Finally, she announced, “OK, children, you can look.”
I drew Tammy Baxter’s name. Tammy was a blue-eyed girl who wore her long black hair in braids with ribbons on the ends. I knew just what I would buy Tammy—a box of sparkly silver bows!
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wondered who had drawn my name and what they would buy me. I imagined the baby doll with real hair I had seen at Woolworth’s or a colorful tea set. How could I wait until Friday, the day of the party?
Tuesday morning at recess, Miss Moberly asked me to stay behind after the others had filed into the gymnasium. When she began by calling me “sweetie,” I knew I wasn’t in trouble, but what came out of her mouth next was worse. Billy Joe Hill had drawn my name, she told me with pity. Billy Joe—the poorest kid in class, the boy without milk money, the boy with no hat or gloves. I understood what it meant to have Billy Joe Hill draw my name. My present might be something old, or I might not get a gift at all.
On Wednesday morning, Billy Joe rushed up to me, his ears stinging from the cold. His icy hands cupped my ear as he whispered a secret. “I got you a present, and it’s red!” he told me, barely able to contain his excitement. He ran to his desk, sat with his dimpled chin in his hands, and grinned impishly. I told Miss Moberly the secret about the red present. With an air of condolence, she warned me not to be disappointed if it was something used. I felt like crying.
Every day, the girls whispered with joy about their gifts. I wasn’t feeling much joy. The boys teased Billy Joe mercilessly, especially since he forgot his lunch money every day that week, but he just kept on smiling.
Friday came. Miss Moberly served us Hawaiian Punch and cookies. She invited my mother to come and help, perhaps to soften my disappointment. Wild-eyed from punch and sugar sprinkles, we wiggled in our chairs. At last, Miss Moberly took one gift from under the tree.
“When I call your name, you may come and get your present. Debbie, Jimmy …” Then I heard my name. I trudged to the front and took my present from Miss Moberly. She smiled at me compassionately. The girls were squealing with delight. I waited until last to open mine. With dread, I peeled back the used paper until my present was visible.
It was red! A red porcelain poodle with a feathered hat that twisted off! Inside was perfume, and it was not used! I twisted off the hat and applied a generous dab behind each ear. It smelled like sugar plums! It was the best Christmas gift ever!
I looked over at Billy Joe, who seemed anxious. Along with my happiness was a certain sadness.
I walked over to Billy Joe, put my arms around his skinny shoulders, and blurted loudly, “Thank you, Billy Joe, for the best Christmas present ever!” He smiled with pride and relief.
Then I looked at my mother, who was also smiling with what looked like pride and relief, except she had tears in her eyes that I didn’t understand.
By Vicki Easterly | Frankfort