Let's leave the factories this week, and think about Christmas and little children. The eternal faith of young childhood reassures us that the eternal good will prevail. I have longed to visit the wonderlands that our large stores present at Christmastime, and watch the rapt faces of little children, and hear their comments. But since that has been impossible this year, I would like to pass on what one or two others overheard. At the beginning of the season, when the shoppers had not yet caught the Christmas spirit, a middle-aged woman brought her two little grandsons in to see Santa. That kindly, bewhiskered gentleman listened patiently to the confiding requests of the five-year-old, and nodded in reassurance. He then handed the little lad a gift book; then asked him if he had any sisters. "No, but I have a friend girl. She's a red head." Santa gave him a book for the "friend girl." The boy just remembered that he had another friend girl. "She's a blackhead." Grandma spoke up, "Why don't you sing for Santa Claus?" As gayly and simply as a skylark the little boy began to sing, "Jesus loves me, this I know, For the Bible tells me so." These were familiar words to the two-year-old brother, and he joined in, "Yes, Jesus loves me, Yes, Jesus loves me." By that time quite an audience had gathered in Santa's room. Hard faces grew soft and tender. Eyes were misty. The sympathetic reporter of this little scene observed that "the miracle of Christmas had come once more." *****
On another day another boy visited Santa and asked for a long list of things. He wound up with a request for a rocking-horse for his baby sister. "And how old is baby sister?" asked the benign Santa. "Oh, we don't have her yet," was the frank reply. *****
One of our little trio of inspectors on the night shifts in the burr file department is a sweet-faced mother of two young boys. She is one of those remarkable people who can get along on about four hours sleep a day. Helen asked to be put on the night shift so that she can be home to get her boys off to school in the morning and be there to greet them when they come home. She loves to talk about her boys. They live where they can have their own chickens. Every Sunday a fat hen or rooster graces the dinner table. Last Saturday evening a certain rooster seemed doomed. But little sever-year-old Sonny protested. "Don't kill him. He's such a nice family man."
Now I must close. I hope to do better next week, for, beginning tomorrow, I leave the "graveyard shift," and will have the first shift - from 7:30 to 4. With all good wishes for this blessed season,
Florence B. Taylor
4501 Lilac Road, South Euclid, Ohio.
Next - 12/24/42 - Tom's Illness. A Christmas Need
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