The classic Christmas song, All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth seems to express an oft-repeated truth. In the lilting lyrics, the writer states, “So I can wish you merry Christmas.”
However, as much as I had all of my teeth and was able to grant well wishes to those within my youthful sphere of influence in 1973, I really wanted a snowmobile for Christmas.
As a young 10-year-old boy with a brother two years younger, as Christmas approached, we hinted and hinted and hinted as only children can.
Growing up in Torrington, Hodgson's Dry Goods was a thriving business with food, dry goods, hardware, snowmobiles (Rupp), giftware and televisions. The store itself was built in the 1930s and had a well-worn hardwood floor with one of those classy tin roofs straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
It was the 1970s, and all of our friends had snowmobiles in the winter and motorbikes in the summer. Living in town, we spent weekends hitching rides on toboggans, asking to drive Snow Cruisers and OPM (other peoples machines).
A visit to the general store was not complete without ogling the Nitro in the window, and if we were careful, sitting on the powerfully fast machine we were flying over snowdrifts and along virgin snow tracks as far as the five- gallon tank would take us.
Rupp, as a manufacturer, had two or three basic models, the American being the family friendly model and the Nitro, its speedy race machine. For some reason my brother and I latched onto the American as “our” machine, perhaps because it included an electric start. While we liked the fast machine, Mr. Hodgson was quick to point out it was probably too much for us kids, even though he could drive close to 80 miles per hour down the elevator road.
One day we learned the American had been sold right out from under us. We were shocked. We had our suspicions. It was then we started to hope beyond hope. When my grandparents and uncles came out for Christmas that year we were still hopeful.
It was Dec. 24, 1973 and we had gone to bed excitedly expecting our snowmobile outside on the driveway in the morning. We rose as early as we were able. We waited for our parents and relatives to assemble, and then followed a rope downstairs.
I asked my brother why they would put a snowmobile in the basement. He said he didn't know.
As we rounded the last step, we realized the elves had been busy the night before when a pool table now filled the gaping hole in the family room!
I would give my last dollar to see what our faces looked like when we realized our snowmobile was really a billiard table!
Looking back, we eventually did get our American the next year and we did join our friends on the snow-packed trails. But on that slate table we created priceless memories, starting from the grandest surprise we ever had as kids.
So what is your best Christmas moment? Enter the Province's Christmas story contest and send your favourite story to [email protected] or at [email protected]
