Late on Christmas Eve, after the last glass of water had been sipped and “Twas the Night Before Christmas” had been read for the final time, all the children were finally sound asleep in their beds — or at least pretended to be quite convincingly.
It was time for Santa’s little elves to get to work in the front room. The children had been good all year, and the assembling of toys they’d receive in the morning was going to keep their parents busy for the next couple of hours, or so they thought.
A short time later, the sounds in the front room threatened to wake the sleeping angels. The parents had just retrieved presents from their hiding places, settled down and started the assembling process only to read the three words no parent wants to see this time of year: “batteries not included.”
After a quick exchange of worried looks, they scurried about flinging open cabinet doors and rifling through the contents of every kitchen drawer. Alas, an hour later, the search ended in vain. Neither had thought to buy batteries. The Christmas toys in this house would remain silent. Or would they?
Long, long ago on an old familiar street not so far away, my three brothers, annoying older sister, and I gathered around the Christmas tree even before the sun chased away the night. It was our first of seven Christmas mornings we spent at 110 Flamingo Street. After each of us unwrapped one of our presents, Dad allowed us a little time to play before we had to get dressed and leave for church. After lunch we opened the remaining presents and played the rest of that day, and for months after, with toys not operated by single battery. Christmas wasn’t ruined. It was perfect.
Looking back as an adult, the toys we received were simple: skates, bikes, basketballs, footballs, Barbie dolls, GI Joe army men, and wooden Tinker Toys. There were also assorted rockets powered by compressed water, slingshots, metal Erector Sets, the Etch A Sketch, the View Master, and one of my favorites — the Super Ball. The model cars and trucks we played with were made out of heavy gauge metal, and so were the bikes, wagons, wind-up toys, tops, jacks and just about anything else we played with. We wore out long before any of our toys. Batteries didn’t power our toys; our imaginations and we did.
Gone are the days wide-eyed children around the Christmas tree receive only non-electronic toys. Almost. On Christmas morning, under our tree there will be, of course, an assortment of toys that only work with batteries or by plugging into the wall. But there will also be sets of Lincoln Logs, wood Tinker Toys, an old-time Etch A Sketch, an assortment of Super Balls, and perhaps my favorite, a metal Slinky. After all, “It’s Slinky, it’s Slinky. It’s fun for a girl or boy!”
So what of the young parents who searched for batteries and found none? They fell asleep on the couch watching “It’s a Wonderful Life.” They awoke the next morning just as the children were getting out of bed. They all gathered around the tree to see what Santa left. The parents found an unfamiliar small red and white wrapped box under the tree. The note attached read, “Open me first, Santa.” Exchanging inquisitive looks, the couple carefully unwrapped the present. What they found inside under white tissue paper saved their Christmas: assorted batteries.
So from me to you this season, dear readers, may your home be filled with joy, love, laughter (and if needed, a little red and white wrapped box full of batteries).
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
