An Idaho Radio Host’s Half Century Old Christmas Story

This is a story I share every year for Christmas, and hope to keep telling for years ahead.  What’s the true meaning of the day?  It’s kindness. It’s about living in imitation of Christ. God came into this world as a man to bring about a revolution, to end paganism. It’s a work in progress, and we’re seeing some setbacks. But the Almighty triumphs at the very end.

For many of us, life has delivered some setbacks, and it’s not unusual for doubts to creep in. However, I’ve had wonderful people cross my path and restore my faith, including in my fellow human beings.

There’s a 51-year-old memory of a rainy and wet week following Christmas. In 1974, my family was moving up the economic ladder. My mom still worked in a factory for a second income, but my dad had moved into a job as a state park manager. He had remodeled a large old house, and the year before, we had taken a real summer vacation. Dad drove the Appalachian spine through West Virginia and Virginia. We got to see a rattlesnake for the very first time at a rest stop. My mom refused to get out of the car.

We Badgered Our Parents About a Florida Vacation

Then the three children started talking about a trip to Disney World. My folks, finally exhausted from hearing about the idea, told us that if we would forgo gifts at Christmas of ’74 and work toward the goal, they would take us. You could pick up a lot of money shoveling snow, mowing grass, and delivering papers.

In September of that year, my dad swapped the family wagon for a new Dodge Charger, with a silver exterior and burgundy interior. That would be our method of transportation. Before we left, Dad gassed up at the Motor Inn Garage, which was owned by a family friend. We left at midnight, arrived in Kentucky shortly after sunrise, and spent our first night in Tennessee. The next night was in Alabama, and then we were in Tallahassee early, where it was 18 degrees! The cold didn’t get much beyond that point, and when we got to Clearwater, with no plans for a place to stay, we found an efficiency at a motel (with a pool!).

During the drive, there had been some issues with the car, but as a 12-year-old, I didn't give much thought to the trouble.

Disneyland on Christmas Day is a crowded place. Mom refused to stand in line for the submarine. On December 26^th, we got to ride an elephant at Busch Gardens. Otherwise, we sunned for a few days at the pool. I met a kid my age from Canada, and we became fast friends. As did our moms.

On the second day of the drive home, the car trouble became more obvious. In Virginia, it was raining. One of those winter days when it’s gray and cold, and nobody wants to be outside. The old man was getting soaked under the hood when a guy arrived and pulled in behind us. I remember him only as Mr. Myers, or Meyers. My dad was six and a half feet tall. This stranger was taller. He was a black man. We lived in a small town where people of any color other than white were rare. The two conferred and decided we needed parts. Dad left us waiting in the car.

We Feared Dad Wouldn’t Come Back

That takes a level of trust that isn’t easy. We sat in the dismal rain for 45 minutes before they returned. They worked as they got soaked, but the car started. The angel then refused money, telling my dad he had to get “those children home”. And we made it.

Later, we learned the Motor Inn Garage had received a batch of bad gasoline. It ended up in the tank of the Charger. Yet, my dad continued to do business there when there were two competitors on the other side of the street. Years later, I had grown up and moved away, but would try and make it home for Christmas every year. On one of those trips, I found myself alone with my father, and I asked him about his loyalty. It turns out there was another story that long preceded the Christmas vacation.

When I was a little boy, I recall that my mom had been very sick for a prolonged period of time. The particulars escape me, and I’m not sure if I ever asked what was wrong, but there was a disruption at home. My mother wasn’t a great cook, but Dad was worse, and eventually, my Aunt Mary and, at times, the older daughter of a family friend moved into the house to look after the three kids. Dad was struggling to pay the bills and was working two jobs.

You Thought This Only Happened in the Movies

In late December, he stopped to buy gas at the Motor Inn. The owner was a man named Charlie Botens. He had known my mom since she was a little girl, and he asked how things were going. Dad explained she was doing better, but that there was no money for Christmas. The garage had a repair shop and a small store, with toys on the shelves. Mr. Botens gestured. “Take what you need,” he said, “and pay me when you can”.

The man died 40 years ago. My parents are gone, and Mr. Meyers is probably no longer with us. But every year in December, I remember them and what they did for me. Christmas isn’t about the tinsel and presents, and you obviously know that. It’s about the example of God coming into the world and later making a tremendous sacrifice.