Drawing names for Christmas in the classrooms has faded into the past. Like many other simple pleasures of childhood, only memories remain. There are valid reasons as to why the practice faded away; perhaps my story will explain some of it.
The year before I started school, I heard all about drawing names at school for Christmas. My brothers explained how you did not tell whose name you drew; it was a secret. You wondered who drew your name and what present you might receive at the Christmas party. Roy drew a boy's name and a little shiny red car was chosen from the Morgan & Lindsey's Variety Store for his gift. It cost five cents and he kept expressing the hope that he would receive one just like it for himself. Sam drew a girl's name and a tiny celluloid doll was chosen for him. It also cost five cents.
The day of the party finally arrived. Late in the afternoon Momma spotted trouble when Roy was dragging his feet several yards behind Sam. His head was hanging low and one look told Mama something terrible had happened.
It didn't take long for Sam, the informer to tell the woeful tale. Roy had been filled with anticipation of unwrapping a toy of some kind and when he discovered a handkerchief, it had proven too much! The six year old boy, who had no toys at home, dissolved into tears. To make matters worse, he threw the handkerchief on the floor and stomped it. The little girl who had given the handkerchief burst into tears.
I learned a lesson from this: no matter what, smile and say, “Thank you.” Roy was in mortal disgrace and received a whipping besides.
The following year I started school and near Christmas we drew names. My present to Helen was a beautiful red rubber ball. Mama had made us a ball from twine string but how I coveted this ball! Perhaps my present would be one just like it. I cost five cents at Morgan & Lindsey's.
Well, the day finally arrived! The teacher called names and all around me, children were unwrapping wonderful presents. My heart was beating fast and I kept holding my breath or closing my eyes, wishing so hard for a ball or, at least, some sort of toy.
My name was the very last one called. I reached for the present and felt my eyes grow moist. The package was small, square, and flat: a dead giveaway! I made my way back to my seat and sat there. Perhaps if I didn't open it right away, it would somehow turn into a toy. Finally, I mustered all the courage I had and slowly opened it. There lay a dainty white handkerchief with three tiny blue forget-me-not flowers in one corner. At that moment, a little voice said, “Louise, do you like the flowers on your handkerchief? I picked it out of my Grandma's dresser drawer. We didn't have any money to buy you a present.”
I looked up and there stood John David: red hair, freckles, blue eyes, and the deepest dimples I had ever seen. He was smiling but looking anxiously, waiting for me to say something. I sucked in a deep breath. Swallowed the lump in my throat and gave him a smile.
“John David, it's the prettiest handkerchief I've ever had.” I replied, and that was no lie.
“I just knew you'd like it.” he answered. The years passed. I have no idea where John David, or if he is even alive, but the little handkerchief with the blue forget-me-nots are tucked away with a few other little girl treasures.
Wherever you are, little boy, thank you for my handkerchief!