Tramel: Christmas stories to warm the heart
Berry Tramel
Oklahoman
A Christmas story, 1972: He was a rambunctious kid.
When he was little, he loved to play drums. He got a little snare drum once, but before Christmas Day was over, he had pounded a hole in it. So the next year, his parents got him another drum – and a spare they saved for his birthday, December 26.
Of course, soon both drums would have a hole in them, and eventually he was past the drummer-boy stage. But he remained rambunctious.
On this Christmas, the snow was falling, which meant great sledding down the big hill just behind his house. Trouble was, Christmas Eve mass was at 7 p.m. And there was no missing Christmas Eve mass.
So the 11-year-old sat in church, singing songs and thinking about all the sledding he was missing.
But the wait was worth it. When he got home, he got an early Christmas present. A new, beautiful, state-of-the-art sled. He hurried to the hill, and soon enough all his friends from the neighborhood joined him.
The parents got in the spirit. Some rigged lighting. Others brought hot chocolate. The sledding went deep into the night, from Christmas Eve into Christmas morning. Past 1 a.m., past 2 a.m.
Christmas traditions and community and a rambunctious spirit all rolled into that night for Jim Traber.
A Christmas story, circa 2008: He wanted a dirt bike. He was eight or nine years old or so. A little daredevil.
So on Christmas, he opened a little box and found a matchbook-sized dirt bike. Very funny, he thought.
Then his family sent him out to the garage. And indeed, there was a dirt bike. A little 125cc machine, perfect for the backyard.
“I was a happy little kid,” he said.
He rode the dirt bike for a couple of years. But one day, while riding his laps in the backyard, his parents went inside.
He figured this was his chance. He stood on the handlebars as he did the laps. And his parents saw him through the window.
Out they came, and the dirt bike was gone. For good.
Now fully grown, he says he’s no longer a daredevil, though you won’t get many Big 12 opponents to believe that about Tyler Lacy.
A Christmas story, 1968: The phone rang at the farmhouse in Dutchess County, just north of New York City. The lawyer was offered the job of a lifetime.
He turned it down.
He and his family were spending Christmas with close friends, virtual parents. He was a private man, never comfortable in the spotlight.
The son of a German immigrant, he grew up in Washington, D.C., and joined the Naval reserves in 1944. He got an economics degree from Princeton and a law degree from Virginia. Joined a Wall Street law firm, got married and started raising a family.
He liked the shadows and avoided the spotlight. He liked Christmas at the farmhouse.
But his law firm had a client, a notable sports entity. Soon enough, he was doing legal work in the sports field, and the sports field beckoned.
Hence the job offer. Which came again in a few weeks, this time with his firm urging him to accept. And so baseball hired as its commissioner, Bowie Kuhn.
A Christmas story, 1985: His mom loved Christmas. She would go broke buying her boys presents, trying to satisfy their wish lists.
Her life often was a mess. In and out of jobs. Drank a little much, especially during holidays. Dubious choice of men; married five times before the boys were grown.
But her youngest son admired her. Admired her determination. Admired her commitment to him and his brothers.
This Christmas, he got what he wanted most. A pair of the new red-and-black Air Jordans.
“She just found a way,” he said. “She’d write those checks and say, ‘I know this is going to bounce, but we’ll figure it out.’ She would never say no.”
He often would feel bad when he knew those checks would bounce, or she’d feel embarrassed at using food stamps at the grocery store.
But his memories are vibrant and his devotion to his mom still strong. “She didn’t ever want us to do without,” he said. “She was an awesome mom. Just snake-bit, so to speak.”
She’s gone now, but her work ethic and can-do spirit and desire to help people rubbed off on that youngest son. You still can see her traits in Brent Venables.