"Shimmy"

A long time ago one of my seminary teachers read this story to my class around Christmas time. I can remember not being able to see straight I was crying so hard at the end, although I'm positive I was the only person in the room that was remotely moved by this story. For those of you that know me or my family you'll know why this has to be one of my favorite Christmas stories. I don't know who wrote this story to give them proper credit, but I'm sure glad they did.

The Gift

I remember it was the same Christmas my father had lost his job. He had lacked work for a time long enough to leave me memories of using candles, because they had cut off our electricity. Even my only sweater bore many holes, and my socks resembled Swiss Cheese. We had never really been poor, but the hurdles of the past year had left us quite bad off. The neighbors offered help, but Dad was proud, he refused charity. I couldn't understand the whole situation, and it seemed to me, my little brother Jerry, who had mowed lawns all summer long, owned 60% of the family's wealth. The money sat in a big piggy bank on top of his dresser drawer. Every once in a while I'd sneak in and grab a little whenever I had a worthy cause. I mean he couldn't exactly be saving for college, not in his condition he wasn't.
You see Jerry, who was twelve and a year younger than I, was different from other people. He entered this world a mongoloid. He looked different in a funny kind of way and had the mentality of a six year old. He also had a speech problem. His voice was real low and gruff and he'd pronounce a lot of syllables wrong.
The differences had separated us like weeds separate flowers. Yet we used to be so close when we were very young. We laughed together, we even stumbled together. I had learned to understand Jerry and couldn't detect any differences because we had stuck closely together while under our mother's wing. But as the years came, along with other friends and children, so came the realization of the differences.
His differences were an illness, a disease that took him from me, that changed him continuously until he was no longer my brother. He became an inhuman thing that caused me enough embarrassment to make me hate him.
Often I became cruel to him. I remember one time I'd gone to play some ball, and as usual Jerry had shadowed right behind me. They wouldn't let me play, because in order to keep the two teams equal, they'd only let two boys join in at a time. Nobody wanted Jerry and that kept me from playing too. It had happened many times before, and each time the resentment mounted, each time I hated him. There wasn't a moment that went by without him getting in the way. This time the mountain of hate exploded and I turned on him, "Look you stupid looking creep, why you gotta follow me around? Leave me alone and go home!" Then I slapped him again and again, because I wished he was dead. I couldn't go anywhere without being embarrassed. Every one also referred to me as the one with an M R for a brother. I didn't want to be embarrassed, I wished he was dead. He finally went home crying. I didn't care. I was to worried about the chewing out I was going to get when I got home. Later on I really felt sorry for what I had done. I felt even worse when I got home and discovered he hadn't told on me, instead he came up and apologized for making me mad.
I also remember one summer we'd gone to the beach. Naturally I had to look out for Jerry. All the kids started to look at us when they noticed Jerry was different. I couldn't take it, and I knew if I ignored him long enough he'd get lost. Only he got lost for a long time. They'd begun to think he'd drowned, pitifully enough, I couldn't have cared less. Hours later an old man brought Jerry back on top of his shoulders and said he'd found him about two miles down the beach behind an old house, sitting in the sand crying. You know Jerry did an awful lot of crying.
Well as time passed the leaves fell and the snow came. Everyone looked forward to Christmas. I spent my time looking at a dream. There was this beautiful watch in the jewelers window. A watch with a gold band, it wasn't really too expensive, but it was too expensive for us. I knew it was impossible, but I liked to imagine that Christmas morning would find me wearing it. Every time I'd pass the shop I'd stare at it forever.
I woke up Christmas morning rushing out open the one gift that was for me by the fireplace. It was a great looking sweater. I really needed one too. "Thanks a lot Dad", I shouted, but noticed how tired he looked so I asked him, "Did you stay up all night with Jerry again?" Yes, Jerry's getting worse", he said.
You see about a week before, Jerry and I had gone tubing. Jerry had ended up in a snow bank at the bottom of the hill, kicking and yelling for help. Memories from past embarrassing situations brought out my cruelty, and I watched him actually dying until I was satisfied. When I finally dug him out, instead of realizing what I had done, the poor dumb idiot, between his gasps for breath and his tears, tried to thank me for saving his life. Anyways, he caught pneumonia and my parents had spent the last two nigh with him.
"Let's go join Mom and Jerry," Dad said. Jerry's room smelled of medicine and Jerry looked horrible, but his eyes were all lit up. I don't know why because he was kind of smiling but I could tell Mom had been crying. She sniffled softly and said, "Jerry's got a surprise for you, Jim." I figured he was going to hit me with another one of his homemade butcher paper watercolor type Christmas cards he'd made. He tried to jump out of bed, but soon found he was so weary he could barely move. He wobbled over to his closet and pulled it out. Another card: Just a big flat sheet about a square foot big and written in red water colors. "To my big brother: Whom I love the most."
while I was reading it I noticed the broken pieces of his piggy bank in the corner. Then he slowly reached under his bed and pulled out a small box. He wiped his nose with his Pajama sleeve, then stood there with his arms outstretched. His eyes Lit up and with all the love he could muster up in that low gruff voice, he said,"Warwy Kwishmash Shimmy!"
I opened the bow and there it was, gleaming, reflecting the snowflakes through the window, the watch, the beautiful watch with the gold band, the one I thought I'd never see again! I couldn't even stop looking at it. Then he gave me a big bear hug and asked, "Shimmy where's my pweshant?" I looked up at him over the broken pieces of his bank in the corner, then to the watch and then back to his questioning eyes, and I didn't have the courage to tell him I'd forgotten about him. I just grabbed him and started to cry cry like a baby.
He never lived to say Happy New Years, he died two days later.
It's Christmas Eve again and it's snowing again too. I'd just gotten off the phone (my parents called to say Merry Christmas). I laid back down on my bed (I'm in college now) with my arms folded behind me and I stared at the only object on my wall; An old homemade water colored Christmas card. I checked the time on my watch - the one with the gold band; just a few seconds before midnight. I gazed up at the wall again and I read the words aloud, "Whom I love the most"....
Then I could actually hear him say it again, "Warwy Kwishmas Shimmy!" Only this time I answered back as loud as I could, "Merry Christmas, Jerry, Merry Christmas!"