The Wish Book Scarf

(Originally written Christmas 2007)

I heard recently that Sears has, after many years, re-released its historic holiday “Wish Book”. As children, my sister and I would spend thousands of hours, at least, paging through the catalog, circling each item that we absolutely had to have lest our young lives be traumatized from toy neglect! My sister’s picks were always nauseating little baby dolls complete with layette, bassinette, and stroller; my choices were more artistic – the Barbie® sewing machine (those glue cartridges were great on draperies!), paint sets, and electronic piano keyboards. I never did score an Easy Bake Oven, but one year my parents hit the jackpot and bought me a miniature drafting table and tracing patterns for all the Super Friends®!

When I was a high school sophomore, I was still drafting my Christmas list from the hallowed pages of the Wish Book, but by this time, I had graduated from toys to clothes, makeup, and hair accessories. As always, I dreamed of stacks of presents under our tree, and as I started making the requisite circles around each item that I so desperately craved, I hoped against hope that I would find under that tree the pink taffeta dress on page 472.

Ten days before Thanksgiving, my father had a heart attack.

My mother took my sister and me to the hospital (my brother was too young to visit). Dad was more tubes than person, and what bit of flesh we could see through the oxygen tent and IVs, was a mottled, pasty grey. The doctor said he had only 22% of his heart left, and frankly, he didn’t know why he was still alive. Later that night, our pastor came by our home with an emergency food box and spent time counseling and praying with us. All of a sudden, the Wish Book didn’t seem so important. At week’s end, my mother announced that due to our sudden change in financial circumstances (it doesn’t take long for hospital bills to pile up) we could choose one thing from the Wish Book, $20.00 or less.

On Christmas Eve, there were three presents under the tree. I unwrapped the soft and snuggly, multi-colored plaid scarf I had chosen and snuggled up in it. Dad was home now, and as was our family way, he turned on the Christmas lights and read to us the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke. We made hot cocoa with marshmallows and put “White Christmas” in the VCR to watch together. By whatever miracle, we were still a family.

I never circled anything in the Wish Book again. But I wore that scarf every winter; every time I wrapped it around my neck and shoulders I would think of how blessed I was to have my daddy, who wasn’t supposed to have lived.

Daddy died nine years after that fateful heart attack; my scarf was stolen not too long afterwards. Over the years, as I’ve grown into myself and have decided what my own values in life are, Christmas lists haven’t been much of a priority. I don’t hit the stores the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t count shopping days until Christmas. Memories with family and friends, and a faith in God's love that brings joy and peace even in the hardest of times – these are the things that make Christmas magical to me.

As I face my fifteenth Christmas without Daddy, and without my scarf, I wrap myself in the memory of his smell, his voice, his hugs and kisses that I miss so much. And I seek to make Christmas a time of building memories with family and friends, and faith, so that when I too am gone, my children and grandchildren can wrap themselves in my memory and be blessed – not because of mountains of presents on Christmas morning, but because, by whatever miracle, we are a family.