For some reason, this Christmas season has my attention more than most. From sharing 1400 Hours after Thanksgiving to preparing to share “The Saga of Rosy and June” next week, I seem to be called to write about the holiday season. So here is the second installment of a Christmas saga for this year.

I’m not what most would call a sentimentalist. Oh, I can tear up occasionally, but that’s normally because of the joy I see in others. A joy that was missing in much of my life.

My thick-skinned, don’t let them see you cry persona started growing when I was a child. Of course, three decades in law enforcement didn’t help, nor did the years I spent assisting others to deal with the world they created for themselves. Or, to be fair, allowed others to create for them.

Still, there are a few memories that can make me feel sentimental. One was the Christmas, my brother and I got our first bicycles. Not only were they bikes, but they were brand new. In our household, a brand new anything was unusual.

Our dad was not the most stable of people. He was brilliant in many ways, but his attention span was not much longer than that of a Chihuahua surrounded by rabbits. That meant we moved regularly, jobs changed regularly, income fluctuated, and you seldom knew what to expect from him.

The one thing you could know for certain was that Dad lived for Christmas. Birthdays were okay, anniversaries, special occasions, and other noteworthy moments were tolerated, but Christmas was at the top of the list.

The bicycle Christmas was memorable for a couple of reasons. Dad was very happy to present us with two new red and white Schwinn bikes. Also, it was a traditional Texas Christmas from those days, warm, with lots of sunshine. Dad took many pictures of my brother and me riding our new bikes in shorts and T-shirts.

Sadly, those pictures and many other mementos from those years were ruined by a leaking roof. I do not remember what happened to the bicycles. They were probably sold to help pay the rent or buy something more important in Dad’s eyes.

Yes, sentimentality is not my thing. While that might be a challenge in some ways, it came in handy when I became a police officer.

The saga continues; Cops, Kids, and Bicycles?

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@jacksonseric