A Gift of Dreams

(Excerpt)

George H. Brooks

Christmas Eve. 1944, I was a sailor in the U.S. Navy. on a one-day leave in San Francisco. I had won $300 at poker that ordinarily would have burned a hole in my pocker , but I couldn't shake an overwhelming sadness.

Seattlebutt had it we'd be pulling out before the New Year for the South Pacific. I'd just received word that another friend had been killed in Europe. And here I was, an 18-year-old alone in a strange city. Nothing seemed to make any kind of sense. What was I going to be fighting for, anyway?

I spent most of the day in a mental fog. wandering aimlessly through crowds of laughing, happy people. Then, late in the afternoon, my vision suddenly focused, and for the first time a scene registered.

There in a department-store window were two electric trains chugging through a miniature, snow-covered town. In front of the window was a skinny boy around nine years old, his nose pressed against the glass. He just stood there, fixed on those trains.

Suddenly the boy was me nine short years before, and the store was Macy's in New York City, my hometown. I could see, could feel the same longing, the same desperate hoping. I could hear the sigh of resignation— the frail attempt to hide the disappointment that Dad could not afford those trains. And I saw the reluctant turning away and then the one last look.

Not this time! I don't know what came over me. but I grabbed the boy by the arm, scaring him half to death.

"My name is George," I told him.

"Jeffrey Hollis Jr," he managed to reply.

"Well, Jeff Hollis Jr," I said in my best grown-up voice. "we are going to get us those trains."

His eyes grew wide and he let me lead him into the store. I knew it was crazy, but I didn't care. Suddenly I wanted to be nine again and have a kid's dream true. The salelerk looked at us suspiciously, a scruffy black boy and a black sailor in ill-fitting dress blues.

"Those trains in the window," I blurted before he could speak. "The whole setup. How much is it?"

His snorting response was interrupted by the arrival of a much older man wearing a warm Chrismas smile. "One hundred and sixty-five dollars and sixty-three cents," the elder man replied," delivery included."

"We'll take it," I said. "Right now if we can."

...

Jeff Hollis Sr.'s reaction reminded me of what my own father's would have been if I had shown un with a stranger and a whole lot of gifs. I could see he was a hard-working man, breaking his back to make ends meet and knowing he couldn't give his family all he wanted.

"I'm just a sailor a long way from home, Mr. Hullis," I said respectfully, explaining how I had seen myself in his son's longing gaze at the store display.

"You couldn't have spent the money any other way?" he asked gruffly .

"No. sir." I replied.

...

His face softened and he welcomed me to share their table. Alter supper, I read to Jeff Jr. and his sisters until they went off to bed.

" I guess you know we've got a lot to do before morning," Jeff Sr. said. His words startled me far a moment. Then I understood. I was no longer a child; I was a man now, with adult responsibilities. So I joined him at what turned out to be nearly an all-night job of getting the trains put together and set up. His wife, Marge, made sandwiches and coffee and kept me talking about growing up in New York. At midnight we paused to wish each other a Merry Christmas, then went back to the task of making a boy's dream come ture.

For about five minutes Jeff Jr. ran his train. Then, abruptly, he stopped and, without a word, left the room. He returned with the presents he had bought, a look of pride on his face. He'd had some help, but he'd made the choices himself.

I thought he was finished when he turned lo me with a package in his hand. "Merry Chrifttnias, George."he said quietly.

I was totally surprised. The gift was a comb-and-brush set. along with a case for other toilet articles. He held out his hand, then changed his mind and hugged me warmly.