Treat/gift idea: Cow tails, gallon of milk
Story:
Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up. I wish I could manage alone.”
"Well, you can't Adam."
His mother's voice was brisk. "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's
time he took his turn."
"Yes," his father said
slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him'
When he heard these words,
something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of that
before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his
mother talked about loving their children---they had no time for such things.
There was always so much work to be done on the farm.
Now that he knew his father loved
him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again.
He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his
clothes, his eyes shut, but he got up. And then on the night before Christmas,
that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next
day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had
raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents
and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket,
maybe, but something more, such as a book And he saved and bought them each
something too.
He wished, that Christmas when he
was fifteen, that he had a better present for his father As usual he had gone
to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay
thinking the night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window. The
stars were bright.
"Dad," he had once asked
when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?"
“It's just a barn,” his father had
replied, "like ours.”
Then Jesus had been born in a barn.
The thought struck him like a silver dagger. He could get up early, earlier
than four o’ clock and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking
done. He’d do it all alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in
to start the milking, he’d see it all done and know who had done it. He laughed
to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he mustn’t
sleep to sound.
He must have waked twenty times,
scratching a match each time to look at his old watch. Midnight, and half past
one, and then two o'clock.
At a quarter to three he got up and
put on his clothes. He crept downstairs,
careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them too.
He had never milked all alone
before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's
surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things
started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and
then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or
empty. They’d be standing in the milk-house full.
“What on earth?” he could hear his
father exclaiming.
He smiled and milked steadily. The
task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once
was not a chore, but a gift to his father who loved him. He finished when the
two milk cans were full. He covered them and closed the milk-house door
carefully, making sure of the latch.
Back in his room he had only a
minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard
his father coming.
“Rob!" his father called. “We
have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."
“Aw-right," he said sleepily.
The door closed and he lay still,
laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing
heart was ready to jump from his body
The minutes were endless---ten,
fifteen, he did not know how many---and he heard his father's footsteps
again. The door opened and he lay still.
"Rob!”
"Yes, Dad?”
"Thought you'd fool me, did
you?” His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the
covers.
"It's for Christmas,
Dad!"
He found his father and clutched
him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark and
they could not see each other's faces.
"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever
did a nicer thing--"
"Oh, Dad, I want you to
know--l do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will.
He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.
He got up and pulled on his clothes
again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh what a Christmas, and how
his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his
mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all
by himself.
"The best Christmas gift I
ever had, and I'll remember it, son every year on Christmas morning, so long as
I live."
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