Christmas Past — By Tommy Purser

Christmastime got me to thinking about my Christmases past — in particular, my favorite Christmases.
There were a lot of fun Christmas mornings in the days of my youth. In particular I remember some of those occasions that happened during my years as a youngster growing up in Palatka, Fla., along the St. John’s River in north Florida, about 50 miles south of Jacksonville.
Jacksonville wasn’t as big back then as it is today but, for a smalltown kid it was pretty big. I had previously lived in Brunswick, where I was born, and in Charlotte, N.C., where both my parents spent their teenage years. Dad was born and raised in Charlotte but Mother, despite being born in Charlotte, had deep roots along south Georgia’s coast in Brunswick. My mother’ mother’s maiden name was Sapp and, as most Glynn County folks can tell you, there are lots of folks walking around those parts carrying the Sapp sirname or at least have Sapps in their family trees.
My grandfather on that side of the family was a Proctor. While he was born in Atlanta, he, too, had south Georgia roots still growing deep in the Ft. Valley area of the state.
But, as I am known to do, I digress. So back to my favorite Christmases of the past.
One that I most remember came when I was, I don’t know, maybe 9 years old. On Christmas eve night I was awakened to the unmistakeable sound of a puppy howling for his mother, I guess. Or maybe he just wanted someone. He was in a strange place, all alone with no mama or fellow puppies to snuggle up against. He was cold, hungry, alone and afraid and cried out in distress.
I heard him and I, too, became distressed. But I had to hide it. I snuggled up in my bed, pretending I had heard nothing for I knew what was up. I was getting a puppy for Christmas and I dared not reveal that I was onto the supposed surprise lest my father would whisk the puppy away and return it to wherever he had acquired it.
So, I feigned sleep. I even tried sleep. But sleep was elusive as was the puppy’s satisfaction. He continued to howl. All night long. And I continued to lay awake in bed, praying that morning would come.
At some point, I could no longerr stand it. No, I didn’t sneak out of bed to see my new puppy. I fell asleep despite all the ruckus from the other end of the house.
The next morning, I didn’t even try to act surprised. I just ran to greet my new puppy.
I dubbed him Sparky and for the next dozen or so years we were almost constant companions. We literally grew up together but, alas, Sparky grew old much faster than I did. During my late teenage years, almost blind, he crawled under the house next door and went to sleep for the last time.
I wasn’t home when the neighbor called my father to report the sad news, sad at least for me. It wasn’t all that sad for Dad.
The next day he informed me of the sad news, as I said, sad for me, not so much for my Dad.
“What did you do with him?” I asked, my heart broken,
He shrugged and replied matter-of-factly, “I threw him in the trash.”
I was speechless. And that was a good thing. My Dad was not one to tolerate insubordination in the ranks — the ranks being my mother, my sister and I. Had I not been speechless and said to him what I thought of his unceremonious disposal of my inseparable friend of many years, there would have been a high price to pay.
But, despite my feelings at the time, it did not erase the memories of one of my favorite
Christmases nor the many wonderful memories with my beloved companion that I still remember and cherish to this day.
Christmas can, indeed, be special.