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My Best Christmas Gift

by Raul Quintanilla (as told to Justo L. Gonzalez)

I STILL HAVE the first Christmas gift I received from my parents. it does not look like much. A 53-year-old yo-yo is not much by many people's standards. But then, by the same standards, the life I had as a boy was not much either.

Things were not easy in 1933. They were extremely difficult for a poor Mexican family of seven, with our father trying to make a living as a cowboy on the huge King Ranch-"la Kinena" as we used to call it. As we were growing up, Christmas gifts were something that only a few fortunate children received and we did not even expect. So a yo-yo was like a precious gem in the hands of the seven-year-old boy I was then.

The years passed. Eventually, most of us moved out of la Kinena. I became a Methodist minister. My mother kept my yo-yo. I kept the memories of times together-times that were both hard and joyful. Then most of us were brought together by our father's funeral. Only my sister suffering from terminal leukemia in California was absent. I remember looking at my father's casket, remembering the kind of man he was-his incredible skill in his occupation, his firm hand in guiding us, his concern over our various needs-and saying to myself, "If only he had been a Christian."

As is customary in a Mexican funeral, friends and relatives seemed to come out of the woodwork. People I had never met came to express their sympathy and to share stories about my father. I was so absorbed in my thoughts, wishing that my father had been an active Christian, that I scarcely heard what they were saying.

There was one man in particular--Jose Ramos, I think, was his name--who told me a story that somehow remained in the back of my mind.

"Your father was a very kind man," he said. "I'll never forget what he did for me many years ago. I had been promised a job in Corpus so I packed the entire family in the car. On the way the car broke down. We spent all our savings getting it fixed, and when we got to Corpus a day later than expected we found that the job had been given to someone else. Here I was with my wife and children with no money, no job, no food, and no place to stay. Then I saw Don Fabian, your father. I went to him and told him of my situation. Somehow, he had money. He took out his wallet and gave it all to me, except what he needed to get back home. That was the beginning of a new life for us. It was December, 1932."

I had little time to listen to such stories or to think about them. My sister in California was very ill, and no one had dared tell her that Dad had died. I was told that as the minister in the family it was my job to tell her. So my mother and I drove to California, and I attended to the difficult task which surprisingly turned out to be a joyful experience for both my sister and myself

On the way back I felt like reminiscing, and I asked my mother to tell me some stories of when we were growing up in la Kinena. She told me a number of stories I had heard many times. Then she told one I had never heard before.

"Sometimes your father was rather mysterious. Once he decided that for Christmas we would all have presents. He saved money for many months and then left for Corpus to buy the presents. I put all of you to bed and waited anxiously for his return. it was three in the morning when he finally showed up. He was empty-handed. He just looked at me, smiled, and said, 'if I told you what happened, you wouldn't believe it.'To this day I don't know what happened. That was the year before you got your yo-yo, December, 1932."

Until that day I thought my yo-yo was the best Christmas present my father ever gave me.

 

The Rev. Raul Quintanilla of the Rio Grande Conference of the United Methodist Church is a Field Representative for the Office of Finance and Field Service, the Board of Global Ministries.

Church historian Justo Gonzalez currently serves Columbia Seminary, Decatur, Georgia, as adjunct professor.

 

 

 

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