WHAT’D YOU GET FOR CHRISTMAS?

January 08, 2026

by Rusty W. Mitchum

Man, how many times have you heard, “What’d you get for Christmas?” I know I’ve heard it at least a million times. Heck, I’ve asked it a million times. I don’t ask it as much as I used to, ‘cause gettin’ stuff doesn’t seem as important as it used to. Oh, I still like gettin’ presents, but now-a-days I enjoy watchin’ other people get stuff, especially kids. I’m talkin’ about little bitty kids, not those ungrateful older kids that nit-pick everything they get.

“It’s the wrong color…I wanted that other brand…I can’t wear this…I hope you kept the receipt.” It makes you want to puke.

Back when I was growin’ up, anything you got, you were grateful for. Back then, it was more like, “Wow! It’s just what I wanted, uh, what is it?” Then after openin’ everything, you grabbed all you could carry and headed out the door to show your buddies what you got.

Now over the years, I’ve gotten a lot of gifts and some of them really stand out in my mind. Not all were Christmas gifts, but they were all special to me. And I do mean me. I don’t expect everybody to like the stuff I got. Heck, everybody’s tastes are different. Here are some of the gifts I remember.

A 26 inch Monkey Wards bike. Santa Clause brought me this bike. Man, what a cool bike. It was black and white, and had two headlights that were built into the metal tank-like thing that covered the bar that ran from the seat to the front of the bike. It also had a button on it that was the horn. It had great big white-walled balloon tires and it was beautiful. Man, I loved that bike.

A Nichols Stallion 45 toy gun. This is the Holy Grail of toy guns. They go for a couple of hundred bucks on EBay now-a-days. I still have it. I taught myself how to twirl it and spent hours in front of the mirror tryin’ to out draw myself, but I never was able to. I was just too fast.

A Daisy BB gun. This was not an ordinary BB gun. When you shot it, it made a ricochet sound. It was really accurate too. There was a stray cat in our barn behind the house that had four kittens. Her name was Cat and I named the kittens Blue, Manolito (after two characters on my favorite western ‘High Chaparral’), Booger and Goober. I kept that cat and kittens alive with what I shot with that BB gun.

A baseball glove. Not many of us had baseball gloves, so those that did, used them when we were playin’ outfield, and we’d let the opponents use them when we were playin’ home. Back then, it was a sin to be selfish.

A Magic Eight Ball. You know what these are. You shake them and a yes or no answer comes up. I picked up one in Gibson’s once when my dad and I were in there, and I shook it. Then I said, “I will shoot a 12 point buck.” The Eight Ball said, “Yes, definitely.” Dad and I laughed. That next weekend, I shot a 12 point buck. My dad went up to Gibson’s and bought me that Eight Ball. Just for your information, don’t ever try to sneak a Magic Eight Ball into school to use on a test. The teachers frown on it.

A Benjamin .177 Cal. Pump-up Pellet gun. I thought I had arrived. You wouldn’t believe how much game this little gun brought to the table. I just thought that BB gun was accurate. I could shoot the rubber band off the newspaper that was out in the driveway while standin’ in the carport. Mom never did find out why her newspapers had holes runnin’ through ‘em.

A Remington 550 Semi-Automatic .22 Cal Rifle. Do you see a trend here? No, I’m not goin’ to tell you how accurate this rifle was. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. I was fortunate enough to have a daddy who not only knew how to shoot guns, but was patient enough to teach me the safe and proper use of them. Plus, he was really a good shot. There’s no tellin’ how many bullets passed through the barrel of that .22 rifle. We had a great big oak tree back behind our house that we used as a back-stop. We hung targets (metal coffee can lids) on this tree and literally shot until we had shot a hole completely through the tree. The tree finally died. Dad said it died of lead poisonin’.

A Western brand Boy Scout Huntin’ Knife. My dad gave me this knife and taught me how to field dress rabbits, squirrels and deer with it. It’s over 40 years old, and you can still shave with it.

A Texas Ranger Commemorative Knife. Janet bought this for me the first year we were married. It cost her 70 somethin’ dollars, and we were poor. She had seen me eyeballin’ it at Mac’s Gun Shop, and she saved up and bought it for me. I’ll never sell it.

A Leather Confederate Cap. My sister Teri gave me this one Christmas, and it was my lucky deer huntin’ hat for many years, until my head out grew it. I retired it, but it’s still the best hat I own.

A Gold Medal Dynamite Blastin’ Machine. This is one of those wooden boxes that has the handle on top that you pull up, hook the wires up to dynamite and then to the machine, and when you push down the dynamite blows up. You know, the kind the bad guys used to blow up train tracks in the westerns. I’ve never used it with any dynamite, although I bet it would be cool. My mom gave me this thing. She always gave me cool gifts.

A Newhouse # 15 Bear Trap. Mom gave me this one too. In fact, she gave me several over the years. They have the teeth on them and everything. They, like the blastin’ machine, are just conversation pieces now, but man, if they could talk.

A watch with an alarm. Now, I know these new-fangled watches have alarms, but Janet got me one back when we were a young married couple. This was back in the olden days before electric watches and all. This watch had a wind-up bell inside. When it went off, it sounded like an old fashion alarm clock. I can’t remember the brand, but I still have it around somewhere. I used it when I was out huntin’, so I could get up early to get into the woods before daylight.

A wooden plaque given to me by Britni Bristow. Britni gave me this plaque for comin’ to speak to her class when she was in the third or fourth grade. Now, I’ve been fortunate in the fact that I’ve received several plaques and things over the years, but none of them mean as much to me as this one. It’s just a plain piece of board, with the words of a sayin’ burnt into the wood. It says, “You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose!” Several years later, little Britni went to be with the Lord and I still miss her. Her plaque hangs in my office and I think of her often.

A horn that plays Dixie. My son Ray got this for me and helped me install it on my jeep. I had seen these horns for years in my J.C. Whitney catalogs and had mentioned to him that I was going to get one someday. Anywho, I have really had a good time with it.

A coffee mug. No, this is not a mug that has anything on it. It’s just a plan ol’ coffee mug. It wasn’t new when I got it either. It was an old used mug that my daughter Gator (Michelle) found at Canton, or some other flea market, and she thought I would like it. Well, let me tell you, I don’t think I could survive without this mug. It is the best mug in the world, and I get a little upset when I can’t find it. Coffee just tastes better out of this mug.

Now, I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’ what a bunch of weird gifts, and maybe you’re right, but don’t even think about tryin’ to trade me out of any of them, ‘cause they ain’t for sale. And if you tried to steal them, I’d track you down and skin you alive. And believe me; I’ve got the knife that’ll do it.