Everybody Has a Story: Riding away on Christmas memories

I was standing in line at the last store with the last gift I needed to buy, and feeling rather proud of myself, when something caught my eye.

There, beside the register, was a container filled with miniature stick horses. They stood about 15 inches high, and somehow they managed to transport me to a time when I was only 3 feet tall myself. I had forgotten Christmas Eve at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

We always got two presents from them, one a huge stick of peppermint, and the other, a beautiful stick horse. Those horses were marvelous. We would prance on them through the house as if we were royalty parading for the peasants. They had plastic heads and broomstick bodies but when we rode them, they were Appaloosas or royal Lipizzaners with their heads held high and their nostrils flaring. Such magnificent steeds!

Usually by Christmas Day, the horses were sent outside where we would romp and dance with them, making patterns in the snow. Sometimes they could even fly, as we traveled from place to place in our imaginations.

Those horses stayed with us as the months passed. Occasionally one would lose a rein and need a repair. Or, a head might come loose, to be reattached by any means available, to keep us happy. Then off we would be again, galloping as fast as the wind across the universe. By summer, their sticks would be starting to wear down, but we didn’t care. Our horses would turn into ponies and off we would ride.

When Christmas rolled around again, little was left of our beauties. The sticks were worn and splintery, and the plastic heads had split, allowing the stuffing inside to show through. I can remember no other gift that lasted as long as this or was loved as much.

“Are you ready?” The clerk must have thought I was crazy as I stood teary-eyed staring at the horses, but then she probably sees a lot of that at this time of year. I only had enough money to pay for the items in my hands.

“Yes, I’ll take these,” I said as I placed the items on the counter and looked away. While she rang up my purchases, I said a silent thank you to Grandma and Grandpa for all those horses, years ago. And, as I walked out the door, I took one more glance back at the horses and at my childhood.

Everybody Has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions, 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA, 98666. Call “Everybody Has an Editor” Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions