Memories of Christmas: Grumpy Grampie and the Hobby Horse

When I was a child, my mother and I lived with my grandparents, and my grandfather would often sleep on a well-worn couch in the living room. Almost every year on Christmas morning, I would wake up early--if I'd been able to sleep at all--and walk down the hall to see what kind of haul Santa had left under the tree. Without fail, my grandfather, my grampie, would be up and waiting for me.

While some adults would have sent me back to bed, Grampie never would. He would sit there, smiling, while I leaned over the pile to see what might be there. I never touched the brightly colored, perfectly wrapped packages, but I would strain my eyes in the dim morning light and try to guess what each might contain.

I still remember the year I got a hobby horse, though it's been so long I don't remember my age or the exact year. It was unwrapped, resting against the wall next to the fireplace, with a cowboy hat upon its head. I couldn't resist. I picked it up for a closer look, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when Grampie, who had that year pretended to still be asleep, demanded in that gruff voice of his to know what I was doing. He laughed at my reaction and watched me place it carefully back in its place before sneaking back down the hall to my bedroom. I can still hear his quiet laugh as he watched me scamper away, a giant grin upon my face at the thought of all the presents I would open in just a few short hours.

It's been just over a year since my grampie passed away, and many years since the Year of the Hobby Horse, but that Christmas morning is one I will never forget.