In this post, I share a Christmas story I wrote long ago about a special Christmas in 1967 when I was ten years old.

The scene was something you would expect from Norman Rockwell or a Hallmark greeting card. My family gathered together on Christmas Eve, remembering past holidays of joy. Most everyone spoke of a special Christmas when they were kids and the room was magical with the shared memories.

There was one Christmas Eve when I was about five years old and brother Bob was six. It was time to go to bed, but we were stalling. Then, suddenly, we heard the sound of jingle bells from outside the house. I don’t think our feet even hit the floor as we ran upstairs, got in bed, and pulled the blankets tight. That’s a great memory, but when it became my time to tell a story I knew immediately it had to be about The Duke.

It was mid-December 1967 and we were walking through the sporting goods area at a local department store. Since Christmas was right around the corner – followed closely by my birthday on New Year’s Eve – I was expressing interest in just about everything in sight. After all, I did have plenty of presents soon heading my way.

Our shopping trips were typically pretty much the same. Bob would lead my Dad to the fishing gear and BB guns while I was drawn to the baseball, football, and basketball aisles. Mom would be on a mission to find one thing or another, so we “men of the family” were left to explore.

It was on such an exploration that I first met The Duke, the official football of the National Football League. It was simply perfect and I knew I had to have it. With my hands on the seams, tossing it in the air and catching it, I was certain it was the best football ever made. If it was good enough for the NFL, it was great for me. I knew Joe Namath would never throw a ball that wasn’t the best, and Vince Lombardi would never allow his Green Bay Packers to use a football that was not perfect.

The NFL logo and Commissioner Pete Rozelle’s signature were on the side of the ball and its name – The Duke – was as clear as day. I was convinced I would throw, catch, and kick this particular ball much better than any other ball on the face of the earth. I was sold, but knew I had to convince my parents.

“This is a great football, isn’t it, Dad?” I said more so than asked. I could see my Dad’s mouth turn just a hint of a smile. “I suppose so,” he agreed, “but the football you have at home is pretty good, too.”

Uh-oh, it sounded like he didn’t think I needed a new ball. “That old thing?” I protested. “It’s old and worn out. It doesn’t even spiral anymore.”

Two things were certain. One, I was not going to give up on my quest for The Duke. And, two, there was no way I was going to blame a wobbly pass on my throwing arm. No, it had to be the fault of that old, worn out football at home. At a young age I was already practicing the number one rule of the weekend athlete. Poor performance is never your fault. It’s always poor equipment, the weather, or some other tired excuse.

So I continued to lobby. “I would sure like to have this football, Dad,” I implored. “Uh, have you and Mom finished your Christmas shopping yet?”

“Almost. Why do you ask?”

“Well, if it isn’t too late, I’d like to add this to my Christmas list. To the top of the list.”

Dad hesitated just a moment and then said we would have to see. At least he didn’t say no, and as the days before the holiday dwindled I spent considerable time daydreaming about The Duke. How I would love to see it beneath the tree on Christmas morning. I was cautiously optimistic I would get it, too, since in my mind I certainly had been a great kid that year.

One thing about most kids is they have no real sense of the value of money, nor what it takes to earn it. The Duke cost thirty dollars in 1967, an amount that would be equivalent to a few hundred dollars today. The expensive price tag didn’t stop me from asking – make that pleading – for it as a Christmas present. 

My Dad was one of seven brothers and, with that large family, times were hard when he and my uncles were growing up. Couple that with the great depression, and Dad knew all too well what it felt like to get underwear and socks for Christmas. I didn’t know it when Bob and I were young, but my father swore he would do whatever he could to make sure Christmas was much more memorable for his kids.

All Bob and I knew was that Dad drove off to work in the morning, came home to a cooked meal on the table, and sat down to read the newspaper and relax a bit. Overall, in my young mind, not too bad of a routine. We didn’t realize Dad worked a second job in the evening – something he did every year beginning in October – so he and my Mom would have the resources for a big Christmas for my siblings and me.

No, thirty dollars wasn’t a bad price at all. The Duke was certainly worth much more that that. It read “Official” on the side, and that alone had to be worth a few bucks. I counted down the days until Christmas and told my neighborhood friends Mike, Frankie, Henry, and Sammy, we would soon be playing with the best football known to man.

At the same time, unbeknownst to me, my parents were in an ongoing debate regarding The Duke’s value. “Thirty dollars is a lot of money for a football,” Mom observed, and Dad agreed, “That’s for sure, it certainly is, but he loves that ball. He talks about it all the time.”

“Yes, and you know how he’s crazy about sports.” It evidently went on for days with the sentence “thirty dollars is a lot of money for a football” being spoken repeatedly. I found out years later how they made the final decision to buy The Duke for me. They actually stood in the aisle at the store and debated it one last time.

Ultimately, Dad picked up the ball and headed for the check-out. As he and my Mom paid for the ball, I’m sure they were thinking the same thing. “We must be out of our minds. Thirty dollars is an awful lot of money for a football.”

Over the years, The Duke lived up to its billing. It was the greatest ball in the world and I treated it like the gold that it was. I wiped it clean after each use and returned it to the special spot reserved for it in my room. And believe it or not, I could throw, catch, and kick The Duke much better than any other football I ever had.

There is something else special about The Duke, the true reason why to this day it occupies a place of honor on the mantel above my fireplace. That Christmas morning I opened it and jumped with excitement to thank and hug my parents was my Dad’s last Christmas on earth. Just three short months later he passed away from a massive heart attack at the tender age of 49.

As I got older, The Duke meant more and more to me. It was no longer a football, but a symbol and remembrance of my parents’ love and devotion to their children. Especially their youngest who – shall we say – encouraged them to buy it.

I look at The Duke just about every day as I walk past my fireplace and bookshelves where I keep my collection of books signed by their authors. The “things” I consider most sacred are kept handy. Seeing The Duke is sort of like having Mom and Dad there, too, and I will cherish it forever.

They were right when they agreed thirty dollars in 1967 was a considerable amount of money for a football. If they’d only known then the particular Duke they gifted me was in fact worth millions. 

REMEMBER…

◊ The famous Dr. Seuss was indeed correct when he wrote, “Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn’t come from a store.”¹ It comes from the heart. 

◊ The great Charles M. Schulz, the creator of Peanuts, said “Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone.”² That “little something” extra my parents did for me in 1967 is even more powerful and meaningful to me today than it was then.

◊ Visit davidajolley.com for additional blog posts, other interesting content, and updates on future book releases and appearances.

1. https://www.brainyquote.com/search_results?q=Christmas ↩︎
2. https://www.brainyquote.com/search_results?q=Christmasdr ↩︎