Jim Reardon

Christmas sixty years ago, was going to be my best ever.  My brother John, fourteen years my senior, was coming home from the Navy for two whole weeks. He was more than a brother to me; he was a surrogate father, as our own father was dying of alcoholism and had been in and out of our home and hospitals for many years. So when he asked me, “Jimmy, what would you like for Christmas?” I didn’t hesitate to answer a question of such magnitude. “Could you build me a go-kart with a gas engine?” In my mind, there was nothing my brother couldn’t do.

He disappeared into the basement each night with instructions for me not to come down till Christmas morning. I was convinced my dream would come true, and told my envious friends that I’d be driving a go kart on Christmas day. That magical morning he guided me down to the basement with my eyes closed. When he instructed me to open them, instead of my go-kart extravaganza, he proudly revealed a workbench, with a drill press and a Craftsman circular saw. I tried with all my might to thank him heartily and to hide my tears of disappointment.

Years passed. His gift went unused, the workbench and drill press vanished, but the circular saw managed to survive my many moves until, in my twenties I eventually had my own house, and rediscovered my brother’s gift. 

I finally saw the dream he had for me. A lifetime of building began, and with that saw I built entire houses with bedrooms that sheltered and nurtured my children, decks and great rooms for gatherings of family and friends. With that little saw I created homes-- I created a life.

The tool I thought I’d never use became the oldest, most precious possession I own, and through it, my brother, who died over twenty years ago, and the memory of Christmas morning, 1960, are alive and well.