For complex reasons, my brother and I found ourselves spending Christmastime 1946 with my Aunt May and Uncle John in Somers, Conn., more than 100 miles from our home in Massachusetts. Now my aunt was a sweetheart of a human being and my uncle fooled no one with his gruff exterior, so staying with them was a pleasure. But I was 6 and my brother was 7 and being well away from home, we worried whether anything would be waiting under the tree for us on Christmas morning. Would Santa even be able to find us at our temporary location?
Come Christmas morning, we worriedly tiptoed down the stairs not knowing what, if anything, was waiting for us. We needn't have been concerned, though, for beneath the tree were two wooden wheelbarrows, both painted blue. On the side of one, the name "Richard" was emblazoned in red, and "Kenneth" was on the other. Both were fairly overflowing with presents -- toys and games and candy and all the little things that help make Christmas so merry for young boys.
The years flew faster than Santa's sleigh. My uncle John (who, were learned long after, had built the wheelbarrows) passed away, and several years later so did my Aunt May. Her children had the sad job of emptying out her house in preparation for selling it. They later told my brother and me that when they went to check what was in the attic, they spotted a couple of items tucked deep into a corner.
There they were, more than three decades later -- the two wheelbarrows, with the wood now split and the paint faded and flaking. Those wheelbarrows no longer held presents, of course, but they were filled with something perhaps even better: the memories of a Christmas made wondrous and joyous by the love of an aunt and uncle.
The above item was written for, and read on, the Sentimental Journey radio show, which originates in Nova Scotia, is heard on several Canadian stations and has a worldwide audience via the Internet.
