The Secret Under the Guest Bed

When my twin brother and I were about seven or eight, there was an outbreak of measles at our school. Measles is caused by a virus that spreads rapidly. In the early stages, when kids coughed, sneezed or talked, they would unknowingly spray droplets in the air. Anyone close enough to breathe in the droplets would catch the virus. Droplets also landed on surfaces such as desks, so we could also catch measles if we touched an infected surface and then touched our mouth, eyes, or nose. In the 1950s, it was a common childhood illness.

For my brother and me, the measles symptoms showed up several days after contact with the virus. I remember the red watery eyes, and how light affected them. We actually wore sunglasses, looking like a couple of little movie stars as we lay on the pillows, under the blankets Mother tucked around us, at opposite ends of the chesterfield in the living room. A few days later, the dreaded rash appeared.

The rash comprised large, flat spots and small raised bumps. It started on our faces and spread downward, from chest to arms, legs, and feet. This all happened at the beginning of December. We were home from school but not feeling well enough to enjoy it. The red rash started as small spots but soon combined into one big rash. I don’t actually remember how long the rash lasted, but I’m guessing it was about a week, perhaps even longer, before it faded.

Once we were feeling somewhat better, the following Sunday, Father drove Mother down to the church for the Sunday service. We were tucked in on the chesterfield and told to stay there until Dad got back.

Off of the living room was a guest room, only used when company stayed overnight. I can’t take credit for thinking of the following, as I honestly can’t remember whether it was my brother’s idea or mine, but once Dad’s car pulled out of the driveway, we slid off the chesterfield and went into the guest room, thinking it might be a good place for Mom and Dad to hide some Christmas presents for us.

We looked around the bedroom but found nothing. No visible presents. We even snooped in the closet, but to our surprise, still no presents to be seen. Finally, we lifted the bedspread to look under the bed, and what did we find? It was large and looked like a miniature ice rink. We lay there on the bedroom carpet on our stomachs gazing at this object, but neither of us dared touch it. We promised each other not to say a word about what we’d found. Then, upon hearing the car returning, down went the bedspread, and we scampered back onto the chesterfield. Father took off his winter boots and hung up his jacket in the kitchen, giving us time to get situated just as we’d been when he left. He came in and covered us up, as somehow most of the blanket had slipped down till it touched the floor. Then he brought us each a glass of juice and sat in his armchair to keep us company while reading the newspaper. Mother was brought home by another church member and his wife, but they didn’t stay.

As the days slipped by, we were soon on the road to a full recovery from the measles, and before we knew it, it was Christmas Eve. On Christmas Eve we were a bundle of excitement; dressed in our pyjamas, eyes wide with wonder, straining to hear sleigh bells, filled with anticipation for Santa’s visit, eagerly setting out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for him, and carrots left outside for his reindeer. We hung our stockings at the foot of our beds and then tried desperately to sleep while dreaming of wrapped presents, waking up multiple times during the night. Despite our excitement about the morning’s presents, we were soon fast asleep.

Then, between six and seven o’clock in the morning, we woke again. It was time to get up. The big day we had been waiting for had finally arrived. Down the stairs and into the living room we went, staring at the tree as if seeing it for the first time, and there, under the bottom branches, were many presents wrapped in colourful paper, ribbons, and bows. By this time Mother and Dad had heard our excited voices in the hallway. They finally descended the stairs, but before we were allowed to open presents, the house rule was, we had to eat some breakfast. So, while Mother was making us something to eat in the kitchen, Dad went down to the basement to fix the fire in the coal furnace. We were allowed to remain in the living room but warned not to touch anything under the tree. We sat together in front of the tree, carefully studying all the presents, large and small, but there was no sign of the big object we had spotted under the bed.

Once breakfast was over, we ran into the living room. One by one, Mother handed us the presents with our names on the tags, and we tore into them excitedly. I can’t remember what items and toys we received that year, but the gift from Santa Claus will always be remembered. After the mess of wrapping paper was gathered up, and our unwrapped gifts stacked in individual piles next to the tree, it was suggested we take a look in the dining room, where Santa Claus had left us one more present. There on the dining room table sat the big object… the tabletop hockey game we had discovered days earlier under the guest room bed. We looked at each other in silence, and then looked up at Dad, suddenly realizing just who this fella called Santa really was.

By this time, Father was already showing us how the game was played. The hockey players were flat cut-outs made of tin and printed in the colours of NHL team uniforms. The players could pivot a full 360 degrees. The players were manipulated by metal rods extending from the ends of the game table, each one connected to a player. The rods allowed us to move the player up and down the ice and rotate them with their sticks ready to strike the puck. With me at one end and my brother at the other, it was a game we could play together. Yay.

I must admit, once the novelty of the first few games wore off, I lost all interest. Every Christmas after that, I just hoped and prayed there would never be another gift like that one, from dear old “Santa Claus”.