More Precious Than Crystal
The Christmas holiday in 1956 was a memorable and exciting time for me. I had been hired for my first job at age 14 by the Perry Brothers variety store. I had been assigned to the gift wrapping department.
I spent my first day getting to know my co-worker, Patty Jo, and experimenting with the many colorful ribbons. Patty Jo, though pleasant to work with, wasn't fast with her hands, nor did she seem interested in making the packages more appealing. She revealed to me she didn't want to work during her Christmas break. but her mother insisted she get a job. That explained her lack of interest, but I wanted to work. It made me feel grown-up, and it gave me a chance to make enough money to buy Mama a Christmas present.
The second day I was browsing the store on my lunch hour. The music of Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas" filled the air. Suddenly I spotted a beautiful cut- glass punch bowl set- 38 pieces by Anchor Hocking. My heart sank when I read the price tag: $4.98. My hopes of buying it diminished, yet I never gave up. There must be someway, somehow I could buy this for Mama.
Mama often hosted Women's missionary Union meetings in our home. She used mismatched cups for coffee and punch. Complaining wasn't her style, but I knew it would make her happy to have nice dishes when it was her turn to entertain. That punch bowl set would be perfect!
I have been blessed with fast, creative hands. Bingo! The more gifts I wrapped, the better chance of getting a good tip. If I made the bows fancy, and matched the paper and ribbons carefully, surely an occasional tip would come my way. I was determined to make Mama's Christmas extra special. Now, instead of browsing the store on my lunch break, I practiced with the ribbons, curling and swirling, making each bow more attractive than the last.. Before long I was getting compliments, and even a nickel tip now and then. I still had doubts about whether I would be able to buy Mama's gift.
One day a tall gentleman came in wearing expensive clothes - a stetson hat, cowboy boots, and chewing on a big cigar. It wasn't unusual to see men dressed this way in my small East Texas town. Some came from neighboring Houston. We called them, "city slickers". In a loud gruff voice he said to Patty Jo and me. " Well, well, ain't ya'll a pair of purty pups!" Then looking at me he said, "Darlin' I hear you are the best little gift wrapper in town". Embarrassed, and not wanting to respond, I thanked him and continued with the package I was wrapping. Patty Jo reached out to take his large box, but he said he would wait for me. I worked diligently to make his gift special. As my fingers flew, my mind worked overtime thinking, if he is really pleased with the way it looks he will tip me nicely, and I will make Mama happy on Christmas morning with the punch bowl set. Christmas was two days away, and by now my hopes were fading fast. I finished wrapping his gift; it was the best wrapping job I had done. My imagination ran wild with the ribbon. I cut and curled the ribbon into many designs.
Upon seeing his gift, the mans' gruffness softened. I could tell he was pleased, but I wasn't prepared me for what would happen next. As he took the gift, he said, "Merry Christmas, hon, it looks mighty purty", and handed me a $5.00 bill. I thanked him and said, "Merry Christmas."
He soon left, then Patty Jo and I fell apart - laughing, crying, screaming and hugging each other. We decided there really is a Santa Claus, and most definately, angels on earth.
I bought the punch bowl set, and was anxious to wrap it. The other gifts I wrapped paled in comparison to this one. I had perfected the art of gift wrapping, and this one would be my best.
On Christmas morning, tears of joy filled Mama's eyes when she saw her gift. More tears flowed when she opened it. "Baby, how on earth could you afford something as lovely as this"? It is more precious than crystal!? "Oh, it was nothing Mama", I replied, "Just a pair of creative hands, and a generous city slicker.
For as long as I can remember, Mama kept the punch bowl set in the middle of the table. Now, almost 50 years later, it sits proudly on my table...
Mary Ann Bracewell
writer/poet
(this story, and others I have posted to this website was published in "Good Old Days" magazine)
