The older we get, the more we remember about our childhood. At least that’s what the experts say. I can attest to that, because it’s happening to me. I don’t remember what I ate last night, but I do remember a winter when I was about ten years old.
We, my parents and two of my siblings, were living in the suburbs of a small town, where, not far from our house, there was a creek and a good size hill. I don’t have to tell you how happy a child can be, when winter came and I had both, a skating rink and a snowy slope to slide down on. I intentionally said ‘slide down’ because, most of the time, I had no more than just my clothes and boots to use for this purpose.
We weren’t rich by any means, so I had to make due with whatever resources I had at hand to fit in the gang of kids on my street. Being handy, which I inherited from my father, I made countless wooden toys like swords, bows and arrows, sling shots, wooden shot guns etc. and for this I had a so called ‘reputation’ amongst the kids. There was one thing though…I could not master. Skates!
Winter came early that year. A good, steady cold and snow covered the landscape well before Christmas. I tried pieces of wood tied under my boots, but they didn’t work the way I wanted. I gave up. I was envious watching my friends gliding on the ice of the little creek, graciously with their shiny blades. So I, in my despair, pleaded my parents.
-Can I, please… get skates for Christmas?
-Well Santa is not that…rich this year! -came the answer from my father.
By now I knew what Santa meant and I was defiant. Maybe a little crying will help…I thought. Nothing worked! I parted to my corner and I listened to their discussion in the background.
My mom, seeing my disappointment, quietly tried to fix things…that’s what mothers do…but there was no change in my father’s stand on this matter.
Christmas was approaching fast and I gave up my requests for skates. One day so happened, that I had the chore to fetch a pair of this year’s sausage from the attic. We stored food, dried and smoked stuff up there…you know, for winter. I loved going up in the attic, because I had the chance to explore the unknown. It was dark, mysterious and spooky and I always liked adventure. There was an old chest in a corner I have never opened, dusty and cracked. I’ve got to have a look, to see what’s in it!?
To my surprise the chest was almost empty, aside some old and musty books and a hat, objects of an earlier age, perhaps my grate grandfather’s. Disappointed I lifted the hat and…there it was…a skate! One skate!? Is this a joke?! Frantically I started to look for the other pair, but there was nothing! I even removed the books to see maybe is hiding somewhere. Nothing!! I was devastated! I let out a little cry, grabbed the sausage, I hid the skate under my coat and went downstairs.
The attic is accessible from the walk-in pantry by a tall ladder. Managed to sneak past my parents with the loot, and hid it in a drawer. The days after, the restoration faze began. It was an old fashioned skate…you know…the kind, with its front bent upwards in a round loop, above the boot toe. It had adjustable twist locks that you can fasten, with the help of a key, to the edges of the sole of your boots. In secrecy I acquired some sand paper from the tool shed and cleaned, shined it from millennia of rust. Oiled the gear mechanism of the lock and then, it was ready for a tryout. I flattened a tube key just enough to fit on the lock shaft to operate it.
I was happy beyond imagination to show off the skate to my friends. They watched me in disbelieve as I was sliding on the frozen creek in no time, with one skate. Pushing with my skate-less boot and doing pirouettes. We even played hockey with no less skill.
Mom was the first to get drift of my secret activity, and followed me one day to the creek. She watched for a while and left without saying anything.
It was Christmas Eve and my friends and I, went on to play hockey. What we hoped to get as presents was the subject of our conversations. When it came to me I said that, what I will get was…a surprise!
It was getting dark when I noticed somebody standing on the banks, watching us in silence. I had no idea how long he was standing there. Soon I realized it was my father:
-Hi dad!- I said and stopped for a moment.
-Don’t you think is time to come home?
-But, dad…just a little longer!
-Dinner is ready, so…come on! It appeared his voice cracked a little.
I followed him home a couple of steps behind, holding my precious attic find. Dinner went and ended in silence. I wasn’t a good eater. Didn’t care for meat and today was no different. We had a little natural tree decorated and real candles lit on the branches. It was peaceful and somber. I excused myself from the table and stud up.
-You skate well!…and on one foot aye?- my father said smiling and placed his hand on my shoulder.
-Thanks dad.
-Where did you get that skate? – he asked.
-From the…attic. It was in that old chest.-I answered with some gilt thinking I did something wrong.
-It’s been there for ages…I never thought that it will ever be of any use. I found it too, you know, when I was your age. My dad said it was his father’s. He lost the other pair when he was your age, fell through the ice and he almost died.
-But…dad the ice on the creek is thick, and the water under it is just a foot deep!
-I know. You really did a good job on this skate…it looks brand new.
-Can I keep it…please?
-It is yours!
Other than some candy there was nothing else under the tree next day. I hoped that a miracle would still happen, and I could find a box with a pair of brand new, shiny skates inside, under the tree.
The tree stood there decorated days after Christmas and I forgot my desire for skates. I guess, it isn’t going to happen this year. I will try again next winter. In January the ‘on one foot skating’ skill went on, and developed further. Then, one night before going to bed, I glimpsed at the tree and there was a box under it, that wasn’t there the night before. I stepped closer and I saw, that is wrapped nicely and my name was on it. I couldn’t contain my excitement, I ripped the paper off the box…opened it and…there they were…a pair of brand new, shiny skates in it, looking back at me. My parents were watching my reaction through the door opening.
-Thank you dad…thank you mom! -and I went to bed with them set aside.
-You’re welcome…take good care of them! This time please use both skates…OK?.
That was my best Christmas present ever, even though it was kind of late. My grate grandfather’s skate went back into the chest in the attic, clean and shiny. It is still there, if no one else found it since. I didn’t become a hockey player, but I can tell you, that I am a good skater still, at this age. I use to tell this story to my grandchildren, whenever they ask the way I learned how to skate.
I wander…why they always ask me to let them check out my attic?!
Noteworthy Notes 