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I wanted a watch.
I had watched for years as my
father wound his watch each evening with that peculiar
action of his thumb and index finger. I was barely able to
tell time, but the sounds produced by the give and take
winding intrigued me.
I had wanted a watch and a
jackknife, but my father had been given a new Barlow knife
for Father??™s Day and he had given me his old knife. I loved
that old knife with its blades worn thin by sharpening. I
wasn??™t really dressed unless that old knife was nestled in
my pants pocket.
I had an old pocket watch that
went into my pants pocket opposite the one carrying the
knife. The two items gave me balance. The pocket watch was
wonderful and kept good time, but I wanted a wristwatch like
my father had.
I hinted that a watch is what I
wanted for Christmas. They were subtle hints??”a classy way
to request a gift, I thought. Then I began to worry that I
might not get my wristwatch, so I began to whine. I
realized that I had not really been that good of a boy and I
panicked. I began to beg. I checked under the Christmas
tree on a daily basis, picking up presents with my name on
them and shaking them. I didn??™t really know what sound a
wristwatch in a package would make, but none fit my imagined
description.
I came into Christmas Day with
less than my usual enthusiasm. Oh, I was still excited
about family coming, the good food and the presents that I
would be receiving, but I was feeling a little melancholy
because it appeared that I would not be receiving what I
really wanted??”a wristwatch. When all the chores had been
done, the food devoured and all the stories told, it was
time to open the presents. It was my job to pull the gifts
from under the tree and pass them to the intended person.
As I distributed the gifts, I
made a wonderful discovery. There was a small package with
my name on it that looked like it could easily house a
wristwatch. It was from my father.
When we all had our gifts, we
went around the room and each person opened one gift, That
was so we could all ooh and aah as we got a look at the
wondrous gifts.
It was a big decision for me as
to whether I should open the package that possibly contained
the watch first or last. I decided to allow the suspense to
build and open it last. I opened my first gift, ripping the
wrapping paper into bits in the process. It was a gift of
woolen socks. I blurted out that they were just what I
wanted. It was a permissible lie in order to be nice. I
watched my father open his gift of a pair of socks. He
opened his gift slowly and neatly, using his Barlow knife to
slice through any tape. I thought to myself that I would
have to open my next gift that way.
When it again became my turn, I
discovered that I could not wait any longer to open the gift
that I hoped held my wristwatch. Nor could I open it slowly
and neatly with my knife. I shredded the paper covering the
package. It was a wristwatch.
I didn??™t get my watch a minute
too soon.
I thanked my father profusely.
I thought about telling him that I would do my chores
without protest from now on, but I didn??™t want to get
carried away. The watch was a Hamilton. It had a
distinctive rectangular shape with a tiny second hand that
orbited in its own circle at the bottom of the timepiece.
The watch had a beveled crystal and of course, no battery.
I had heard of battery-powered watches, but I had never seen
one. It had a metal wristband that could be twisted without
breaking. In return for the twisting, the band would pinch
skin and yank every hair out by the roots that attempted to
grow on my youthful wrist.
It was a wonderful watch. I
even wore it to bed, just in case I would need to know the
time at 2 AM.
A few months after getting the
wonderful gift, I was shoved by a cow that we were moving
from one pen in a barn to another. When I threw my hand out
to keep from falling, I smashed my watch into a post. The
watch never recovered.
I have never forgotten that
watch.
I will always remember the
wonderful Christmas when I received it.
?©Al Batt 2003
71622 325 St.
Hartland, MN
56042
SnoEowl@aol.com
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