Holiday memories

The Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays have always held a special meaning for me and have provided many wonderful memories to cherish. The time my bachelor brother gave my then-two-year-old daughter an unassembled Big Wheel ranks right up there. My brother wasn't particularly gifted with mechanical abilities and figured he was safe in sending her home with just the box and a promise of future assembly. Not having any children himself, he was blissfully unaware of the guile a tot who wants something can possess. He eventually succumbed to her seemingly innocent pleas of "Pwease, Uncle Dennis, fix it for me," and "But, I wuv you, Uncle Dennis," as she teasingly batted her eyes at him with a look of total adoration.

Mumbling something to the effect of, "How hard can it be to put together a child's toy," Dennis opened the box and carefully emptied the contents onto a clear area of the floor, unfolded the directions and sorted the various parts according to assembly order. Steps one and two seemed to go smoothly and, in turn, bolstered my brother's confidence. Then came step three.

Struggling with step three for nearly a half hour, Dennis was 100 percent certain the assembly instructions were wrong. Needing validation, he called in our older brother, Jim, for reinforcement, explaining why he believed the instructions were printed in error. His explanation must have seemed plausible to Jim, as they quickly disposed of the "useless" instruction sheet and set about the task of assembling the bike "the right way." More time passed as the two continued to struggle; others realized how serious the matter had become when the pair announced they needed to relocate the project into the garage in order to have quicker access to a wider variety of tools. By this time, my daughter had lost interest in the bike and refocused her attention to one of her other presents, which didn't deter my brothers' mission to complete the task. Now it was personal.

Hours passed as the rest of the family continued our celebration in the comfort of the family room, watching the children playing with their pre-assembled toys and catching up with each others' lives. Our lively chatter was occasionally interrupted by the sounds of tools dropping on the garage floor or frustrated-sounding voices drifting through the adjoining door of the garage adamantly proclaiming there must be some parts missing, or insisting other parts simply didn't fit.

Sometime after midnight, the pair emerged from the garage hoisting the bike high above their heads in a triumphant celebratory procession through the family room. Their smug looks of satisfaction faltered as, seemingly in unison, their eyes landed on my daughter, fast asleep and oblivious to her uncles' accomplishment. Sensing their hard work would now go unrecognized, they gently nudged their sleeping niece until she was awake. Her eyes grew wide when she saw her brand new, fully functionally pink Big Wheel sitting before her. She quickly jumped on the bike and just as quickly jumped back off, running over to her uncles, throwing her tiny arms around their necks as far as she could reach while excitedly repeating, "Tank you, tank you" as fast as she could. As she danced back to her bike, the satisfied look on the faces of my brothers validated they had been justly rewarded for their monumental task.

My daughter is a grown woman now and a mother herself, and just a few short years after that special Christmas, Dennis was killed in a car accident shortly before Thanksgiving. As our family once again gathered for the holidays that year, it was difficult for us to recall the happy times we had shared for so many years in the past. Time has a way of healing our wounds and I can once again look back on that magical Christmas with an even greater appreciation. Especially since it nearly didn't happen. My older brother and I had been caught up in a feud that at that time had spanned more than a year. During our family Thanksgiving dinner that year, the quarrel escalated and I vowed to boycott the family Christmas get-together that year. Dennis had pleaded with me over the next month to set aside my feelings just for one night. His appeal fell on deaf ears right up to the last minute. As he was packing his car to make the trek to our grandmother's house, he tried one last time to change my mind -- this time he was successful.

I'll always be grateful to my brother for nagging me that year to abandon my anger and for giving me the best gift ever, that of a cherished memory.

Kari Sleight is publisher of the Frontiersman.