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The Present

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By HELEN SPAULDING

Special to The Tribune

Published: June 21, 2009

SPRING HILL - The back rooms of Daddy's drugstore, filled with forbidding phantoms hiding among the dark wood and dim lighting, inflamed my childhood imagination.

Large boxes stacked high on every side held old-fashioned excelsior that once protected medicine bottles during shipment. Other containers, emptied of their goods, left narrow passages.

Dwarfed by the towering, teetering boxes, little visitors entered only with great trepidation.

Daddy had a secure hideaway for any secret projects. During one pre-Christmas season, he seemed especially happy and pleased with himself. Full of our own projects, we children did not notice.

On a memorable afternoon, Daddy arrived home in a friend's car. We did not have one of those newfangled things, so Daddy needed help to bring home "The Present."

We crowded around as the men dragged out a wooden horse swing. Sweet-smelling pine formed an H-shaped front section for feet and hands to propel the "horse." In the middle, a special bolt swiveled a double wooden extension that served as a seat.

On top of the front section perched a gorgeous, carved horse head: wooden teeth showing in his open mouth and painted eyes glittering. A halter and bit graced his head and a frayed-rope mane and tail completed this noble steed.

As a crowning touch, Daddy had made a bicycle type seat whose bottom sported a keel that fit between the two boards making up the seat extension. We children stood speechless, awed by our father's handiwork.

In the edge of the woods that bordered our yard, Daddy had cleared a large area under a towering, old, moss-laden oak tree. We watched in fascination as a neighbor climbed up a ladder along the trunk, then worked his way out and over a massive oak limb meandering over the clearing.

He seemed remote enough to touch the clouds above. Three heavy ropes attached to a Y of the limb dropped down to couplings on the front crossbars and tail of the horse-swing. We could barely contain ourselves until Daddy, strutting just a bit, told us to "give it a whirl."

We children jostled for position. Once order reigned, we began to enjoy our horse. It did not exactly match what I had meant when I had begged for a horse, but, for sure, there existed no other horse like ours.

Many joyous hours passed in that swing pumping hard so that we could sail high at both ends of the arc. We all enjoyed it, but I had to add my extra touch.

When flying as high as possible, I tucked back my foot section, extending the handles to the fullest extent and flipped over the entire horse. I clung like a monkey as the bicycle seat fell off.

I'm glad Daddy did not catch me at that trick. If he had, my fun would have screeched to a halt. Never in our lives did anyone give us a more awesome gift!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Writer Helen Spaulding, 84, is a retired nurse living in Spring Hill with her husband, Roger. The couple, who worked as missionaries for 23 years after retirement, have three children, six grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Spaulding is the author of "A Bruised Reed," the story of Abraham Lincoln's grandmother, Lucey Hanks. Spaulding is a distant relative of Hanks.

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I Remember It Well is a feature of the Prime Time page. E-mail submissions at about 500 words to baylife@tampatrib.com or send typewritten stories by mail to Sherri Ackerman, 200 S. Parker St., Tampa FL 33606. Submissions cannot be returned. Please be sure to include a recent JPEG photo of yourself and other photos that help tell the story, along with a telephone number.

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