When you're growing up on a military base, heroes are mostly the guys wearing combat fatigues.
The base I grew up on was CFB Greenwood, N.S., which serviced the Royal Canadian Air Force in the days before the federal government removed the “Royal” from the moniker for the next four decades.
Greenwood was a magical place. It was in the heart of the Annapolis Valley where apples are still the most prized commodity. The base was close to the famed Bay of Fundy along the west shore. The land was a mix of lush forests, pastures and orchids. But here we also had sand dunes, a perfect setting where kids seized special moments to be soldiers. And we could be heroes too, like Lt. Gil Hanley and Sgt. "Chip" Saunders from my all-time favourite television show Combat!
While hockey may have been a Maritime boy's passion from October to April, play soldiering was front and centre from May to September.
When the holiday season rolled around in late 1965 there was one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world, far more than new hockey equipment, which was a huge thing for most other base boys.
What mattered most for me was a Johnny Seven O.M.A. (One Man Army), a multi-function toy weapon that came with a grenade launcher, anti-tank rocket, armour-piercing shell, anti-bunker missile, repeating rifle, Tommy gun and automatic pistol, the latter being especially neat because you could remove it from the main gun. It was the absolute Cadillac of toys for military brat boys. It was just so super cool, even in those days when cool was not considered cool to say.
But sadly for me the Johnny Seven O.M.A was a toy best suited for just dreams. It was an expensive item for any kid on a military base, and money was especially tight for my family that year. While my mother always made sure everyone in the family had a nice Christmas, I had acquired at my young age a modicum of realism that a Johnny Seven O.M.A. was simply out of reach.
When Christmas Day came, the family gathered around the tree, just like in years past, and opened their presents. Of course I attacked all of mine and they were nice, even if I just pretended to like the socks and the new pair of jeans.
And then my mother said there was something else for me. She left the room and came back with a big box. Santa had misplaced one gift, she said.
I ripped apart the wrapping paper, and underneath was my Johnny Seven O.M.A. It was winter and I would have to wait five months before I could head to the sand dunes to be super cool. But that did not matter. My dream came true.
A half century later that dream has turned to be something more special. There is a new hero.
I found out years later after my mother died that she had for many months before the Christmas of 1965 worked extra long hours at babysitting jobs and in the apple orchids to earn enough money to get her youngest son his dream toy. And that for me today is the true specialness of my magical Christmas Day moment 50 years ago.
So what is your best Christmas moment? Enter the Province's Christmas story contest and send me your favourite story to [email protected] or at [email protected]
Like mine, it is without a doubt special.
