A Short Story: The Christmas Dinner
After we escorted the last group of our classmates across the street intersections around the school, the patrol boys met at Principal Smith’s old, red Chevy station wagon. We loaded the large bags of groceries into the back. Each bag had a large turkey and all the trimmings for a family-sized Christmas dinner. The patrol boys always helped the principal distribute Christmas dinners to the needy and this was the first time that I had ever participated. I had just become a patrol boy that fall because of my good grades. Up to then, I had not thought much about poverty or the needy. Yes, there were the wealthier kids that lived up on Tackett Hill, but most of our dads worked on the railroad or at the coal terminals, the steel factories, or the nickel factory. We weren’t rich, but we weren’t poor. At least we didn’t think of ourselves as poor and no one really called attention to it.
We piled into the station wagon and headed down Raven Street toward the community pool. The principal turned on the radio. “I Feel Fine” by the Beatles was playing. We all sang along, even Principal Smith, who told us that he actually liked the Beatles. We thought that was really cool. Next up was “She’s Not There” by the Zombies. I loved the British invasion bands. “You Really Got Me” by the Kinks had just started when Principal Smith turned down the music.
“OK guys, it says in the Bible that if you have plenty you should share with those who have little. That is what we are doing this afternoon. It is important that you do not share with anyone the names of the families who are receiving these turkeys. We must allow these needy families to keep their dignity, their pride. You must always remember that. Always. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” we all said in near unison.
We turned at 19th street next to the railroad tracks where three small, wood frame houses stood. Principal Smith looked at me.
“Cliff, grab one of the bags and let’s go to the first house. You other guys will get your chance to help at the next few houses.”
I grabbed one of the bags and we walked up to the door. All of a sudden I had become nervous, not knowing what to expect or how to act. Principal Smith knocked and Mrs. Harmon answered. I tried to remain out of sight hiding behind the principal. He explained that we had a turkey and other food for Christmas. Mrs. Harmon teared up, looked around to see if anyone in the neighborhood was watching, and very quietly whispered thank you. She said to bring everything into the kitchen. As I reluctantly entered, I noticed the poorly lighted living room was small with a floor furnace right in the middle of the room. It was the only source of heat in the house. I walked through to the even smaller kitchen and placed the grocery bag on the table. Principal Smith was praying with Mrs. Harmon when I looked down the narrow hallway and I saw Sharon peeking out from her bedroom door. We were both embarrassed and we immediately looked away from each other. She quickly shut her door. It was the first time I had actually put a real face on poverty. After the prayer, I said Merry Christmas to Mrs. Harmon and she thanked me. I couldn’t look her in the face. The principal and I quickly left the house. As we delivered the remaining turkeys that afternoon, I sat quietly in the car, not willing and not knowing how to voice my feelings. I thought it best not to mention it to anyone.
Sharon was an excellent student and she and I shared a love for reading. We had a friendly competition as to who could read the most books during the school year. Earlier that fall she and I had worked on a presentation about President Kennedy coming to our state before he had been elected. We both loved President Kennedy and were still mourning his assassination the previous year. Our presentation focused on his promise to fight poverty. It was the first school project that I had ever studied and worked with a girl. I liked Sharon. While we continued to be friends in class, the fact that I had brought a Christmas turkey to her home was never mentioned between us. That event was off limits. We simply pretended that it didn’t happen. But it did happen. She and her mother moved away a couple of years later and I’ve haven’t heard from her since then. Whenever I sit down to a turkey dinner or read about President Kennedy or poverty in America, I fondly think about Sharon and the Christmas dinner that I helped to deliver.
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