Gifts
November 1929

Roy looked out the passenger-side window of his dad’s Model A at a long line of males waiting to get into a soup kitchen. He turned to his father, “Papa?”

“Yes, Roy?”

“How long do you think it will be before things get better again?”

Eddie Carrara sighed, “I don’t know, son.  I don’t think anything like this has ever happened before.  So many people out of work.”

“We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” asked the 16-year-old bear.

“I hope so,” said Eddie.  “People will always need clothes, but they are making what they have last longer.  That means less money for me.”

“And more spaghetti without meatballs for supper.”

Eddie looked at his son with a serious expression.  “Spaghetti with no meatballs is a small thing, Roy.  There are people out of work, like those men back there, who have no food at all except for soup.  Your mama would tell you to be grateful for what we have.”

“Yes, Papa.”

The elder bear reached over to ruffle the fur on top of his son’s head.  “We will be okay.  And I will eat lots more spaghetti without meat to buy a dress for your mama’s birthday.  We’re here.”

Eddie pulled into a parking space near the front of the five-and-dime store and killed the ignition.  The car sputtered once then went silent.  A light snow began to fall as the two males walked toward the store entrance.  The snowflakes on his shoulders were rapidly melting in the warmth of the building, but Roy brushed at them anyway.

“Can I go look around?” Roy asked his dad.

“What’s the matter?  Are you ashamed to look at ladies’ dresses with me?”

“Well, I…  Uh…”

“Go ahead, Roy,” said Eddie.  “I’ll find you after I pick something out.”

The younger bear wandered through the store, happy to be looking at anything other than women’s clothing and (even worse) ladies’ undergarments.  In the men’s section, he stopped momentarily to examine the slacks hanging from the racks.  Roy pressed the cloth between the sensitive pads of his fingertips.  The difference in quality between these clothes and the ones in his father’s shop was plain to see.

The teenage bear continued to walk aimlessly through the store.  A pair of young mice, maybe about seven or eight years old, dashed past him giggling as they ran.  Roy smiled and thought of how he and Marco used to play in the tighter confines of The Thread Bear.

Roy came upon a small section of sporting goods where a display of baseball bats caught his eye.  Roy hefted one and assumed a batting stance.  He closed his eyes and, in his mind he was transformed from a bear into a tiger, the phenomenal Rogers Hornsby whom the Cubs acquired from the Boston Braves just that year.

“Wow, are you a baseball player?” asked a young voice.

Roy opened his eyes again.  The two young rodents he’d encountered earlier were standing there and eyeing him with curiosity.  One had a distinctive patch of white fur around his left eye.  The other was staring open-mouthed at the bear.

Roy shook his head.  “No, I’m not,” he informed the youngsters.

Patch punched the other boy on the arm, “See?  I told you!”

Roy leaned down to look the two mice in the eyes.  “Do you know who Hack Wilson is?”

“Yeah,” said the boys in unison.

“We listen to the Cubs on the radio,” added Patch.

“Well, Hack is my uncle,” said Roy with all seriousness.

“Jeepers!” exclaimed Patch.  “Come on, Johnny.  We gotta tell your dad who’s here.”  The little mouse ran off leaving his companion behind.

“You don’t fool me,” said Johnny.  “Hack Wilson is a wolf,” he informed Roy before scampering off after his playmate.

Roy straightened up with a smile and returned the bat to its rack.  As he did so, something on a nearby shelf caught his eye.  He picked up the baseball glove and held it up to his nose, deeply inhaling the scent of fresh leather.  Roy carried the glove with him to the women’s clothing where he found his father holding a cobalt blue dress in front of himself on a hanger.

“Oh, Roy!” said the elder Carrara.  “What do you think of this?”

“I think it’s too small for you, Papa,” Roy laughed.

Eddie slapped a paw to his forehead, “I mean for your mama.  Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Yes, Papa.  She’ll love it.”

“What are you holding there?”

Roy held out the baseball glove.  “Can I borrow some money?” he asked timidly.

The older bear looked at the price tag.  “Roy, it’s a dollar and a half!”

“I know.”  Roy was beginning to suspect that he picked the wrong time to ask his father for money.

Eddie clutched at his chest as if he was having a heart attack.  “You’re killing me, Roy,” he groaned, “killing me. What is wrong with the glove I gave you just this spring?”

“It’s not for me,” Roy explained.  “See?  It’s a left-hander.  It’s for Marco.  I want to give it to him for Christmas.  I’ll work extra for you, I promise.  You don’t have to give me any more money until I’ve earned it all back.”

Eddie held out his paw for the glove.  “Any more complaints about spaghetti with no meatballs?”

“No, Papa, I swear.”

“Alright then,” Eddie softly acquiesced, “since it’s for Marco.”

“Thank you, Papa.”  Roy threw his arms around his father and squeezed.  “I know Marco will love it.  I’ll tell him it’s from both of us.”

“Tell him it’s from your mama too.  From all of us.”

“I will.”

The elder bear handed the glove back to his son, wrapped an arm around Roy’s shoulder and headed toward the cashier at the front of the store.  “What am I gonna do with you?” he said with mock exasperation.

“That’s what Mama always says,” Roy informed his dad.

“And she’s right,” said Eddie.  He held the dress that he was still carrying out at arm’s length.  “I wonder if they have this in my size,” Eddie said with a twinkle in his eye.

Roy laughed, “Oh, Papa!”

“What?”

“It’s not your color.”

“You got me there, son,” laughed Eddie.  “You got me there.”