Coast to Coast Christmas

This Friday morning before the sun rise, shoppers will stand outside in the dark. They do this so they can spend money they don’t have on things no one needs. But it is the biggest shopping day of the year.

The process begins with studying the ads to see if the item on somebody’s wish list is on sale, or if an item is priced so low you can’t pass it up. The stores open earlier than normal and they discount their prices (sometimes to ridiculous levels) to draw people inside.

I’ve done this. I read the newspapers, and occasionally the ads, but this time of year I like to get in the Christmas mood, so I survey the ads to see what I want (need has very little to do with it). One year my daughter, Jennifer, and I got up early - like 5:00 a.m. - to participate in the madness. If you have ever thought about going to Palermo to run with the bulls may I suggest day-after-Thanksgiving shopping as a warm-up?

Having waited in the cold outside the store, we were shoved through the chute when it opened. Propelled along with the rest of the herd, we stampeded through the store. Carefully avoiding the china I managed to find the luggage set that was on sale. Resisting the temptation to use it as a battering ram I hoisted it above my head.

Jennifer and I then made our way to the kitchen gadget section and picked up a large electric grill (the six-pancake model). Armed with our oversized gifts, we were shielded from the aggressive advances by the other shoppers. We paid for our items and left the madhouse. By now the coffee shop had opened, so we sat in there and had some caffeine to unwind.

Not all my Christmas shopping experiences were like this. When I was young downtown Belle Plaine was brightly decorated with lights, bells and candy canes. In the middle of the main intersection a large bell hung suspended by large swags of garland covered cable. Snow would gather on this centerpiece and then blow off as the bell swayed in the wind.

The Coast to Coast hardware store would open its second floor to the public a couple weeks before Christmas. In that hardware store attic - 30 stair steps above hammers and nails, brushes and paint - children would see what Santa’s elves had been making in his workshop. There were toy guns, games, rockets to Mars, cars, dolls, dishes, trains and trucks.

One year, Mom took Terry, my little brother (who now stands two inches taller than me), and me to that magical world. Like most families with several children, we drew names for gift buying (which were then posted on the refrigerator for all to see). Terry picked my name so Mom helped him choose a gift for me.

On the way home, Terry, who was about four or five, had me guess what he had bought me for Christmas. At first I declined to guess, but he persisted.

“A truck,” I suggested.

“Nope,” he said

“A game,” I asked.

“Nope,” he said with a grin.

“A gun,” I offered.

Immediately tears welled up in his eyes. He leaned over the front seat and announced “Mom, he guessed.”

I got a toy gun that year for Christmas, and so did Terry (from Santa). We played with those guns together for many years. I no longer play guessing games when it comes to gifts; I prefer to be left in the dark with the rest of the shoppers.