I’m right on track for Christmas. Sunday’s week ago I made it to “Hanging of the Green” at First Baptist in Allen. A great and Christmassy program with lots of Christmas music. A good way to open the season. This last weekend Pat and I went to Jenks and attended the Sunday morning Christmas Program at Southern Hills Baptist Church where my son Steve and his family are members. Naturally his two daughters were performers in the musical program where 6-year-old Charlotte sang a solo.

All of you know me to always be alert for the inevitable mess ups that happen when you get 60 little kids on risers in front of an audience. But alas, nothing real bad happened and the presentation went off well. After the performance we had Sunday lunch with all the Bullard and Smith family members who were there as well as the Jim Pipkin family (Yes, the former football star of Allen High). Pat kept her doctor’s appointment Monday morning and when it was over, we pointed our car south. Back to Allen.

We are expecting all (I think) of our kids home this holiday and most of our grandchildren. It is a great time of year for our family and I know for yours, too. Make the most of it. These are times we allow our minds to go back and remember when our children were small, and we got to celebrate their joy and excitement about Christmas -- about what presents they might get and about Santa Claus.

If we wish, we can reach back in our own memory bank and recall some of our own Christmastimes. Times which our imaginations let us have such glorious times of love of family and belief in all sorts of miracles. As children we wallowed in the anticipation of gifts for Christmas. Our joy in receiving exceeded our love of giving. But such are the mysteries of childhood. The main person I depended on for high level information during my childhood was my somewhat evil older brother. But he sometimes discredited himself by passing on incorrect information.

Another advisor-guru in my life was a little girl named Letha Mae. Should have been “Lucy.” When I was about seven, the smart and clever Letha told me she had found who Santa really was. I was astounded at her intelligence, charm and know it all attitude about things like this. “Who is he?” I asked her breathlessly. “It’s my daddy,” she replied. I was shocked. Her dad was a skinny little balding man who attended our church. I wondered how that Billy Moore (her dad) could be Santa but for a long time, when I heard the name Santa, I pictured this little bald man.

When Christmastime of 1943 came, I was almost breathless waiting for Santa to come and leave me no telling what kind of gifts and by Christmas Eve he was on his way. We had no television then, but our radio was a constant source of information and such. It was how my somewhat older brother Gerald learned that Santa was ahead of schedule and to facilitate his early arrival Gerald and I were to go over to the Moore (Letha Mae’s) house and stay so Santa could come on. We went and Letha Mae had already gotten her new doll and before we could really get our visit out, word came across the road that Santa had already come and gone at my house.

I got a train that year. Where and how dad found the thing is still a mystery, but he did. It was a big wind up train with ample track and sidings. Must have cost over $3.00 which was quite a bundle of cash in wartime Centrahoma. Another thing Gerald and I got was a bag of fireworks which we set off in the backyard Christmas day. Fireworks were standard Christmas fare back then but again, how dad found firecrackers in the middle of WWII remains the question.

It was a good Christmas and I still have vivid memories of playing with that train with Gerald and my dad. And my hope this year is that you and yours will have the kind of Christmas that Gerald and I had that long ago in 1943 while the whole world was at war.

Wayne Bullard,

DPh

waynebullard@sbcglobal.net