For the Deseret News 2003
It was Christmas Eve, 1986. My wife and I were newlyweds going to
BYU. I worked at a small bicycle shop in Orem. The shop was small enough that
every bicycle in the place was sold for Christmas. As a convenience, we stayed
open late Christmas Eve so that parents could hide the bicycles somewhere that
wouldn't be discovered by their children.
The owner of the shop was a kind man by the name of Kenn Hughes. He
brought in some Christmas goodies, which were shared by all as we waited for
people to come and pick up their Christmas surprises. One by one the bicycles
were picked up. Gradually the floor emptied until around 8:30 p.m. there were
just three bicycles left. All three bicycles were purchased by the Smiths who
had just recently moved to Santaquin, just south of Provo. We were starting to
get concerned at the late hour so decided to call to find out when the bicycles
would be picked up. We checked the paperwork, then called directory but could
not find a phone number. Around 9:30 p.m. Kenn decided that something must have
come up and that the bicycles would likely not be picked up that night. He sent
us home.
My wife had come to the shop to pick me up. As we drove home, we
visited about the bicycles and the children who were likely not going to have a
very merry Christmas the next morning. We decided that this just could not be.
We didn't have an address but figured Santaquin couldn't be all that big of a
town, so took a chance and drove there, hoping to knock on a few doors to see
if anyone knew the people we were looking for. As we drove into town, we
noticed a trailer park and for some reason decided to pull in. I went to the
first home with a light on and knocked on the door. "Sorry to bother you,
but is there by chance a new family in the neighborhood by the name of
Smith?" I asked. By now it was around 10:30 p.m. and the snow had begun to
fall quite heavily. The lady at the door was in a nightgown and not real happy
to be bugged so late on Christmas Eve. But to our surprise she replied that a
new family had moved in a week or so ago and lived just three doors down. I
thanked her, wished her a merry Christmas and went three doors down.
The lights were off, the snow was coming down with a vengeance, and
the wind was blowing. My wife and I stood on the wooden doorsteps and knocked.
After quite some time, a lady came to the door. "Sorry to bug you, ma'am,
but is this the Smith residence?"
She looked curiously at me then answered, "Yes."
"Ma'am, I work at the bicycle shop in Orem. Did you by chance
lay away three bicycles for Christmas?" She replied in the affirmative,
and then, voice wavering, proceeded to explain why they had not been able to
pick up the bicycles. Her husband had been laid off from his job in Arizona.
They had moved to the area to start a new job. They were expecting his final
paycheck in the mail and planned to use it to come and pay for the three
bicycles. For some reason, the paycheck had not arrived on time, so they had
explained to their children that Christmas was going to be a few days late that
year. She was very apologetic for not letting us know. I could hear the sadness
in her voice as she spoke of her disappointed children. She promised they would
come in the following week and finish paying for the bicycles and pick them up.
"Please don't sell them," she pleaded. I assured her that we would
hold them for her. Then we said our good-byes and headed for home.
The ride home was miserable! We felt so bad for those three little
children. This was their only Christmas. They were so new to the area that they
hadn't had time to unpack. There was no Christmas tree. The children's beds had
not even been assembled yet, so all three of them were on the living room floor
in sleeping bags. The move had been traumatic. New town, new school, no
friends, now no Christmas presents. My wife and I decided that somehow these
kids needed to get their bicycles the next morning. On the way home we called
Kenn and explained to him what we had discovered. To our delight he said,
"Well, come back to the shop! We've got some bicycles to deliver!"
At about 12:30 a.m., Kenn, his wife, my wife, and I arrived back at
the Smiths' home and unloaded the bicycles. We sat them by the front door and
then knocked. After quite some time, Mr. and Mrs. Smith both came to the door.
As they opened the door and saw the bicycles, Kenn said, "So, do you
believe in Santa Claus?"
"But we don't have the money to pay you right now," came
their reply.
"We'll worry about that next week," said Kenn.
I will never forget the look on the faces of these two sweet
parents. I will always remember the tears of joy and expressions of gratitude
as we tried to quietly roll the bicycles into the tiny living room without
waking the children. We just about made it, too, but one of the children woke
up and caught us. He realized what was going on and sprang out of his sleeping
bag screaming for joy at the top of his lungs. The other children were startled
out of their sleep and were quickly on their feet, circling around the room, excitedly
chattering as they admired their new bikes.
We
soaked it all up for a few minutes more and then said our good-byes. I hugged
my boss and thanked him for being so kind. Then we got in our cars and floated
on home. I learned that night what Christmas was really all about.
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