Editorís note: Calvin Pollard has lived in Falcon for 22 years. He sent us this true story of a special Christmas.Christmas — that time of the year at Sugar Creek in Kentucky was always something more than special. When the crops were sold and the harvesting finished, all thoughts turned to Christmas – and the Christmas tree.After finding the right Cedar tree for our house, we cut it and loaded it on the horse sled. Dad would usually make a wooden stand for the tree, and we would decorate it.Decorations were different from the store bought ones. We would make garland out of popcorn and red berries, using a thread and needle. The tree would be wrapped from bottom to top. The Christmas ornaments were made from Sycamore balls covered in different colored tin foil. During the year, mom would collect the shiny bands from cans she opened for the icicles. Coffee cans always provided the best and brightest colors. We twisted them into tin metal icicles.Then, there was the angelís hair. During the fall, we would gather the milk pods from the weeds on the hill. From these, we removed the white silky-like hair, and gently spread this over the tree branches. Of course, mom always got the special job of putting the freshly made cardboard star covered with tin foil on the top of the tree.The tree was ready for the special delights to go under it. After seeing all the special toys and things in town, the excitement of Christmas was always racing through my head. All the things I might have wanted had to have that touch of reality like ìboy, those boots were pretty,î but I actually got shoes to wear in the fields. Dream of everything, but you can only hope for real and practical things.This was also the time of year when all the farm products were sold, and the bank and grocery stores were looking for their money. During the year, business owners would extend credit with a promise that we would pay at the end of the year. As funny as it may seem today, money borrowed from the bank, grocery and dry goods stores was usually done on a handshake. Just buy what you needed, and they would write it down; and you could pay them later. Boy, that was easy! Well, easy until the crops did not sell for what they were worth, and you came up short on payment. A drought, a hail storm or floods could damage our very existence.Since the storekeepersí success depended on our success; with hat in hand, dad would go to each one and pay what he could, hoping and promising that next year would be better. My dad would get depressed around this time, and he used alcohol to lift his spirits — too much alcohol.On one particular Christmas, dad and his friends were into the evening, drinking as usual, telling jokes and stories, laughing and slapping their knees. The pain of those kind of holidays ran deep. I was not having any of it anymore, so I interrupted the menís party; and, in front of everyone, I asked my dad to stop drinking. The laughing stopped, and everyone was quiet as dad sat there looking at me.Then, with a creased brow and calloused hands, dad picked me up, and his words I still remember today like it was yesterday. Dad said, ìSon, you mean more to me than all of this, and I would not be much of a man if I could not put this bottle down and quit.î With that, he did; and that was the last Christmas that dad ever drank a drop. That was the most wonderful Christmas present of them all.
