The Christmas Stocking
written by: Jim Bates
Hi everyone! My name is Johnny, and I’m a Christmas stocking. Oh, I know, right now I can hear you skeptics out there going, “Hogwash! There’s no such thing as a talking stocking, let alone a talking Christmas stocking.” Which is fine. Think what you want because I’m not here to argue. But I will offer this: Do you believe in Magic? The kind of Magic you see in the eyes of a young child when they walk into the room on Christmas morning and see the tree all lit with colored lights and pretty ornaments, and their eyes go wide, and they smile and maybe even giggle with joy. And then they see their Christmas stocking hung nearby full of goodies, and their eyes go even wider with wonder.
Well, I have. And that’s Magic. And that’s part of what I’m all about. So take it or leave it. But I’m me. I’m a talking Christmas stocking. My name is Johnny, and I’m here to tell you my story.
I came to life many years ago through the nimble fingers of Norma Jorgenson. She was a dressmaker and seamstress who made a living sewing for the good people of Sage, a small town in the southern part of the state. Her husband, Ned, was a young infantryman who was killed in the Great War not two months after he’d landed in France. Norma was pregnant and was left to fend for herself.
And fend for herself, she did.
She opened Norma’s Dress Shop in the front room of the house she and Ned purchased before he joined the army. When he was killed, she used her widow’s pension to start her business. After Beth was born, Norma raised her daughter by herself and, though not without its challenges, they had a good life together. Beth graduated from Sage High School and went to college at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. There she met Steve. It was love at first sight, and they were married when they were both nineteen. The next year, their first child was born. They named him Johnny.
Granny Norma was overjoyed with the birth of her grandson. She went to work knitting something special for the young couple and their new baby. Two weeks before Johnny’s first Christmas, Granny Norma presented Beth and Steve with a special gift.
“Here,” Norma said, handing the couple a package wrapped in red and green tissue paper. “This is for you, two.” Then she winked. “But it’s really for little Johnny.” He was six months old at the time.
And I’ll tell you true, Johnny loved me!
I was knit by Granny’s loving hands with green and red wool. She knitted the name Johnny with white yarn around the top edge. She used the same white yarn to weave a Christmas tree, a reindeer, a Santa Claus, elves, presents, and even a gingerbread man into the pattern. Johnny was thrilled looking at all the Christmas characters, making a game out of finding and identifying each one. I even had a tiny silver bell on my toe.
And Johnny loved me. I know he did.
Over the years, at Christmas time, a common comment was Johnny saying, “Mom, let me hang up Johnny.” He said it every time his mother unpacked the Christmas decorations to decorate the balsam Christmas tree she, Steve, and Johnny, invariably bought at the YMCA Christmas Tree lot in the parking lot of the Ben Franklin a few blocks from the small home where they lived in south Minneapolis.
Beth would smile. “Okay, Johnny. Go ahead. He’s your special Christmas stocking.”
And I was, too.
But things change, don’t they? Over the years, Granny Norma got older and eventually passed away in her sleep. She never left her home in Sage.
And life got complicated, too, for Beth, Steve, and their son. Johnny graduated from high school in Minneapolis and was drafted. He was sent to fight in Vietnam and was killed at Khe Sanh. He was nineteen. Beth grieved over the loss of their son and was never the same. Her health declined, yet for a few years she and Steve maintained their Christmas tradition of buying their Balsam tree from the YMCA lot, decorating it, and hanging me up. Especially hanging me up.
Beth would always say, “This is for you, Johnny. This is for you, my lovely son.”
I tried to be as joyful as I could be, but honestly, it was hard. Beth and Steve were so despondent over the loss of their son. It was hard to break through the wall of sadness surrounding them. Beth died in 1978. Steve couldn’t go on. He committed suicide a year later.
Sad, right? Yes, it was very sad.
But life continues moving forward. No matter what. If we are lucky, we get a second chance.
The bank that owned the mortgage on Beth and Steve’s house hired a company to ‘liquidate the assets,’ as they called it. So they did.
I ended up in a box of old clothes and used items in a second-hand store in downtown Minneapolis. I was there for many years. (I’m not sure how many. Counting is not my strong suit.) Over that time, I became full of holes from moths. My pretty wool faded. I developed a bad smell and sort of stunk. Honesty, I was kind of a mess.
But then…then Magic happened. Remember Magic?
One summer day, a young woman entered the store hand in hand with her young child. He was a little boy with pretty ebony skin and a bright smile. Guess what? If you guessed that his name was Johnny, it’d be a good guess, but it’d be wrong. His name was Jamal. He was five years old. And he fell in love with me. His mom bought me for a dollar and took me home.
Jamal and his mom (her name is Shanna, by the way) live in a tidy apartment on the edge of downtown Minneapolis. Shanna’s life has not been easy. Jamal was born when she was seventeen, but she was able to not only keep her son but also to finish high school. Now she’s working as a checkout clerk for the neighborhood grocery store and taking college classes online.
Anyway, they brought me home. Shanna carefully darned the moth holes, washed me, and cleaned me up. Then they picked out a special place and hung me on the wood trim around the window in the living room. It wasn’t even Christmas! It was the middle of August and really hot out, but Jamal didn’t care. Neither did Shanna.
“I love him, Mom,” Jamal said, gently caressing my soft, clean wool. “I love him so much.”
“I’m glad, Jamal,” she told him, smiling. Then she added, “I do, too.”
So, that summer I had a new home and I was very happy. For many years, I had been with Johnny, then I was stuck in a box and with no one, and now I was with Jamal. I seriously didn’t think life could get any better.
And for the rest of the summer and into the fall, it was the best time I ever had.
But then our first Christmas came along. Shanna was able to find a nice little tree at the thrift store where they got me, and she and Jamal decorated it with strings of popcorn and cranberries. She found some neat old ornaments and together she and Jamal carefully hung them, finishing it off with a bright golden star at the top. And, of course, I was nearby on the window molding watching it all. Which was great.
But, I’ll tell you, on Christmas morning, with soft snow falling outside, when Jamal got up and saw the white twinkling lights on the tree that Shanna secretly put up after he had gone to bed, his eyes went wide. Then he saw me, his Christmas stocking stuffed with cookies, fruit, a candy cane, and even a gingerbread man poking out of the top like he was waving, and his eyes went even wider.
“Yippee!” Jamal clapped his hands and shouted with joy. “Oh, Mom, look! Look at Johnny!”
Shanna asked. “Do you like him, Jamal?”
“I do, Mom,” he said. “I really do. I love him. It’s like Magic.”
Shanna smiled. “It is, sweetheart,” she said. “It really is.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
Then they both hugged. Their happiness was so strong, they hugged for a long time.
I couldn’t help it. I felt so proud and so happy to be with this lovely little family, I wished I could hug them too. But, of course, I couldn’t. Instead, I’ll settle for being the luckiest Christmas stocking in the whole world. Which is fine with me.
I’m already looking forward to our next Christmas together. I’ll bet it’ll be as amazing as this one. I’ll do my part, that’s for sure. I’ll do all I can to make it as magical as this one. And the same for each Christmas to come for Jamal and Shanna.
I hope I’m with them for a long time.
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