Mitch Sneed at Large

I promise this isn’t going to turn into a rant on how we’ve lost sight of the true meaning of Christmas – even though we have.
While fretting over the scarce number of gifts under the tree, I realized that more and more gifts are being shipped by FedEx and UPS to people we are just too busy to get to see. Gift cards have replaced gifts and the idea of going out and looking for just the right thing for someone you love is a thing of the past.
I’m not bitter.
Christmas is to celebrate the birth of Christ, not gifts.
While I try to stay focused on that, it’s hard to get excited when there are no little kids running around. I miss that excitement.
I miss family being around and I miss my Mom.
Pass the tissue and the Prozac. I’ll be alright.
The best thing about Christmas morning is seeing the excitement of a child as they tear into what Santa had delivered.
Growing up with four brothers and sisters, times were often lean. But there was no disappointment. My folks always managed to find a way to get you something that just made your day and your year.
So without further adieu, here is my Top 5 Christmas gifts of all time.
5. At the age of 13, I got an eight track stereo complete with Grand Funk Railroad and Three Dog Night tapes. I was so cool. That baby cranked so loud that I couldn’t even hear my mother calling me to supper or to take out the trash
4. Pro Keds suede basketball shoes in Carolina light blue. In junior high these were a must and when I didn’t get them to start the school year, Mom, I mean Santa, came though at Christmas.
3. A Daisy Red Rider BB Gun. Enough said there. We’ve all seen “A Christmas Story.”
2. A 10-speed bike. I had rolled along on a 20-inch Schwinn Stingray with the old style banana seat for almost four years. It was tired. I had jumped more ramps, skinned more knees and put more miles on that old green monster than anyone alive. I was 12, it was time for an upgrade and Santa came through. It was a yellow Huffy with the skinny tires and touring handle bars. To this day my Dad thought the handlebars should have gone the other direction. “That way you have to bend over too far,” he said. He was right, but you sure looked cool.
1. A 1975 Plymouth Fury Police Special with a 440 Interceptor. My Dad bough this sweet ride at a police auction and it was the baddest car on the planet. I was 17 years old and had been driving a 1967 Buick Skylark for a year. This was a muscle car and it would flat rock. The speedometer ofn the car that would become known as the “Narco” because it had been a DeKalb County Narcotics Unit ride, registered 140. The thing is that the car would do that speed too, not that I ever broke the law or anything. It was great. The cage had been taken out, but the doors in the back seat wouldn’t open from the inside. That was a great date feature.
I loved that car. But more than the car and Christmas, it gave me an appreciation for my parents. When you are little you just don’t understand how much they sacrificed to give you what you need, let alone what you want.
But I think that was the year when it hit me. They went without for all of us.
Family is what Christmas is all about to me.