Dear readers,

It is Christmas eve. Let’s reminisce.

Look closely at today’s photograph. It is the Meltzer family’s Christmas card from 30 years ago. Left to right is Trent, Zane, Sandy, and me.

The bicycle in the photo is a Schwinn Wasp. My cheesy hobby writing my weekly column, “A View From My Schwinn,” was in its infancy.

My column had brought me great happiness. I felt a need to share. There was no end to my self-promotion. I passed out free T-shirts with my logo on them along with bumper stickers with the slogan, “I Brake for Schwinns.”

Looking back, I’m amazed at how long my family put up with my obsession with all things Schwinn. They were such good sports, but even good sports have their limit. That Christmas I found their limit.

Earlier that fall, my good friend Billy Emerick had found a smaller version of my Schwinn bicycle at a yard sale. When I saw it, I instantly thought it would be really cool if my entire family rode the same model Schwinn. Schwinn made most of its bicycle models in various sizes and for both men and women.

By that Christmas, I had found two of the smaller old Schwinns. In my mind’s eye, Christmas morning at the Meltzer house would be worthy of a Norman Rockwell illustration. Trent and Zane would be filled with joy when they feasted their eyes on the bikes Santa had brought them.  Christmas morning came and let’s just say their eyes weren’t filled with joy.

A few years later, Trent inspired by the poem, “A Visit from St. Nicholas” penned his own poem to commemorate that Christmas. The “Ernest” referred to in the poem is a character from the movie, “Ernest Saves Christmas.”

Enjoy!

 ‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

My brother and I were snug in our beds.

While visions of new bikes danced in our heads.

When out in the alley we heard a noise.

Zane thought it was Santa with our new toys.

We wanted to see Santa so to the window we snuck.

But it just looked like Ernest unloading a truck.

I said, “Maybe it’s Dad, he and Ernest are almost twins.”

Zane said, “Look he’s unloading some rusty old Schwinns.”

The next morning Zane and I were sad.

We realized that Santa’s helper really was Dad.

Why didn’t Santa find a helper he could trust?

Zane and I didn’t ask for old bikes covered with rust.

This year I told Santa for me and my brother,

If you need a helper, please ask our mother!

See you all next week, same Schwinn time, same Schwinn channel.

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