When Santa landed on the Naughty List…

How a Christmas surprise led to childhood disappointment but treasured memories

Every parent likely has that drive to splurge and buy their child or children that awe-inspiring gift during the holidays - perhaps something a bit too expensive, a bit too much.

Some might argue such Christmas presents threaten to spoil a kid, and maybe that’s true, but I think the intent for most parents is to capture a moment of wonder and magic, something completely unexpected that somehow tells the child how precious and special they are.

Today, a lot of those wow-factor gifts come in the form of technology. Maybe it’s a PlayStation 5 or a VR headset, the latest iPhone or a gaming computer. There are a lot of options for parents today (and a lot of added pressures, one might argue), but that doesn’t mean the inclination or instinct to amaze a kid with The Big Gift is a new phenomenon.

A real Christmas tree spray-painted silver is a proud MacPherson tradition, one kept alive by my brother in Ontario. (Photo: Submitted)

It takes me back to my childhood in Prince Edward Island, and a memory of when my late parents’ attempt not only to surprise my brothers and me but to amaze us went terribly wrong for them.

I can’t pinpoint the exact year this happened, but it would have had to have been the late 1970s, or maybe 1980 at the latest, as I was still a believer in the magic of Santa Claus.

I don’t know how they did it, but my parents managed to make every Christmas an absolute delight and celebration of consumerism, even though they were mounting such extravaganzas for four boys on one income.

Now, on this particular milestone Christmas, I’m guessing there weren’t any big (translation: expensive) gifts under our trademarked silver tree, and I believe that’s the case because it turns out the showstopper was located elsewhere in the house.

Mom and Dad said Santa delivered one more gift, but it wasn’t in the living room where the presents were typically to be found Christmas morning. No, they said, it was in the basement.

So en masse, our family of six headed downstairs (some of us with greater urgency than others) to see what else ol’ Saint Nick managed to pack in his sack of toys for Clan MacPherson.

It wasn’t anything that we boys had asked or wished for. It wasn’t anything we’d imagined or expected. It was that rarest of Christmas treasures: a surprise.

It was a full-sized pinball machine, lit up as bright as the tree upstairs. Something right out of an arcade.

The pinball machine Santa brought was likely one of these models, which had been offered for sale by Sears in the 1970s.

We were blown away. It was the coolest thing we’d ever seen. A pinball machine? IN OUR HOUSE?!?!

It was madness. As if our house wasn’t loud enough already with four MacPherson boys (five, if you counted Dad, and you should, as he was the loudest) contained within the modest bungalow.

Now, Mom would have to contend with undoubtedly incessant bings and dings, not to mention four boys arguing over whose turn was next - five if you counted Dad, and again, you should.

It. Was. Amazing. But it was short-lived.

Within days, the space-themed machine started malfunctioning. Some of the bumpers wouldn’t light up or repel the metal pinball as required.

Knowing my father, I’m guessing he was incensed. It would’ve been a significant purchase, and I don’t want to think what an ordeal it was getting down our narrow stairwell to the basement. He’d have been determined to get his money’s worth, and to get satisfaction from the retailer from whom “Santa” had purchased it.

Tragedy awaits

So soon came the day when our parents had to explain to us that the machine was faulty, and that Santa was coming to take it back. But fear not, they said - he’d replace it with a pinball machine that would work and delight us for years to come.

That seemed reasonable to us, and given the recency of Christmas, my brothers and I undoubtedly had plenty of other doodads and distractions with which we could occupy ourselves. After all, Santa was replacing it, and it wouldn’t take long at all for him to work his magic.

But time, it definitely took. How many days and weeks elapsed, I can’t say, as the decades have deleted that detail from memory.

Eventually, Mom and Dad revealed the day had arrived: Santa had delivered the replacement, and it was awaiting us once again in the basement.

And so came the second Christmas surprise for my brothers and me, but this one wasn’t quite so pleasant.

Santa was all out of pinball machines, our parents explained, so he brought another fun apparatus one might find in a game hall.

It was a kind of pool table. Had it been a genuine pool table, that would’ve been just as big a hit as well. But it wasn’t a typical billiards setup.

Replacing the short-lived MacPherson pinball machine was a bumper pool table, akin to the one pictured.

No, it was a diminutive bumper pool table.

Now, I’m sure I hadn’t heard of bumper pool before, but even as a child, I knew one thing: it sucked. It offered the potential fun of pool but ruined with obstacles. Billiards Interruptus.

In retrospect, I have tremendous sympathy for my parents. Their grand plan to dazzle their boys was dashed by shoddy manufacturing and limited options.

My brothers and I would play bumper pool in the ensuing days, and we’d occasionally revisit it over the years. But it just didn’t compare to a real pinball machine.

Fast forward many years later. My brothers have all moved out and embarked upon our own lives and careers. The four of us return to the Prince Edward Island homestead to spend the holidays with our folks.

I don’t think parents ever really lose that push to treat their boys to something special, and on this particular Christmas, mine were inspired to deliver another big surprise and to right a wrong in the process.

Redemption

Once again, they revealed something awaiting us in the basement, and this time, Santa wouldn’t be stealing the credit. There it stood, a brand-new (and more modern and reliable) pinball machine, with electronic scoring. It was definitely a heftier and sturdier contraption, and it was tremendously fun.

We all commented how great it was and how cute it was for Mom and Dad to correct a perceived injustice that tainted a childhood memory.

But I also felt compelled to point out one small flaw in their plan.

“There’s just one problem,” I said. “WE DON’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE!”

As such, my brothers and I were frequently gathered around the pinball machine to get as much time as we could on it before we had to return to reality and leave this piece of the past behind - at least until the next visit home.

Mom and Dad eventually sold the house in P.E.I. and settled in Cape Breton in their golden years, and the machine followed them. So holiday visits still saw some pinball sessions.

My parents both died several years ago, but the pinball machine continues to entertain, but a new generation of MacPhersons. It sits in another basement, at my aunt and uncle’s home in Cape Breton, and their grandkids are the ones to light it up these days - and to argue over whose turn is next.

Don MacPherson can be contacted at ftonindependent@gmail.com.