Weymouth High School - Campus / Reflector Yearbook (Weymouth, MA)

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Xke Christmas Rose Which rose would appeal to you the most, the first in spring, the last in summer, or the one in mid-winter, towering up through a blanket of snow? The winter rose, which is characteristic of the season, having only one leaf and white coloring, would probably appeal to most people. This rose is commonly called the Christmas Rose because of a certain legend. The story dates back to the year our Christ- child was born. Madelon, a flower girl, who had heard about the birth of the new King, was eager to see him. So when the shepherds set out to see the new-born King, Madelon followed quietly behind. Although weary as she was without food, she followed, encouraged and strengthened by the thought of seeing Christ. She noticed the numerous gifts the shepherds had for Him, and she had come empty-handed. Here she was, alone, with nothing to offer and with not a farthing to her name. If it were summer, she could have picked a bouquet of flowers, but in midwinter it was useless. As she was reflecting these things in her mind, her guardian angel, who was the only person who realized her trouble, planted roses around her. She picked the roses eagerly, and presented to the Christ-child a bouquet of flowers and of love. Mary Tirrell ' 36 Xke Tkings I Do When I run downstairs in the morning, The things I am going to do Skip joyfully down before me, And laugh, and I laugh too. We run out into the garden And into the broad sunlight, And some I sing and play with, And some I forget till night. When, in the purple evening, I clamber up to bed, The things I have done come up behind ; They never run ahead. Some sigh as they creep behind me, Some smile and chuckle too, Some say, ' ' Why, don ' t you remember? We ' re what you were going to do ! So the good, the bad, the forgotten, Together upstairs we creep, And they sit down round my pillow, And talk till I fall asleep. Catherine Smith ' 37 On Doing Up Christmas Bundles Christmas time is rolling around again, and that means that a few million people will be lost in jungles of tissue paper, string, glue, and seals. Being an old hand at the game, I will attempt to give you a few ideas on this matter, which weighs heavily on your brain. All a per- son needs to play this game is a sheet of tissue paper and an object to be wrapped. To begin, you lay a piece of tissue paper on the table. Next, by means of various instru- ments, you find the centre, and place the object to be wrapped on that spot. You extinguish the lights, and creep up gently, lest it hear you. Then all at once you make a dash, gather the paper and object in your arms, snarl ferociously, and toss them gently in the direction of the Christmas tree. Then you turn on the light and face the world with a clear conscience. I visited a man last Christmas while he was doing up bundles. Everything was quiet, until aided by the blue streak of curses which emitted from his mouth, the paper started to crackle and my ears started to burn. So it is with regret that I view the coming of Christmas tide with misgivings for it is, as I have yet known, the only time when all Americans, after suffering from listening to radio comedians three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, go completely, (pardon my English) nuts from doing up Christmas bundles. Charles Tibbs ' 35 No Ck ances Dickie and Frank, aged five and seven, were spending a few days with their rich and gener- ous grandmother while their mother and father were away . A few nights before Christmas, Dickie and Frank were preparing for bed, and their grand- mother was in the next room, waiting for them to go to bed so that she could put out the light. Frank said his prayers, and crept under the blankets. Dickie, still on his knees, was asking Heaven for a large order of Christmas toys. As he increased, his voice grew louder and loud- er. He spoke somewhat in this manner : O Lord, please send me a drum and a tool chest — a big tool chest, Lord — and an automo- bile and a large truck and — . Provoked, the older brother, raising himself up on his elbow, said angrily, Say, you needn ' t be praying so loud. The Lord isn ' t deaf. I know he isn ' t, said Dickie, but Grandma is. Jennie Worthley ' 35 REFLECTOR ...11...

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A Little Blue C ar Miriam B. Nask ' 37 In the kitchen of the Wilcox home, was Tom Wilcox, a young fellow about eighteen years old. Placed on a table in front of him were numer- ous articles, all bearing a decidedly Christmas air. At his left hand were scissors, ribbon, seals, and sheets of multi-colored paper. He was ap- parently ready for work of some sort, for his sleeves were rolled up, his necktie was lacking, and his bed slippers were on his feet. He ap- peared to have a list, which he was checking over. Hm—socks for Uncle Herbert— scarf for Aunt Gertrude-neckties for Ed, George, and Donald —handkerchiefs for Grandma-pipe for Dad- money for Mother— bottle of perfume for Sis- toy automobile for Johnnie-hm-g uess that ' s all. Seems to be all here too. Starting at the top of his list, he methodically wrapped each package. That is, until he came to the little car. There, his masculine curiosity for mechanics overpowered him, and following the directions most carefully, he wound it up, and set it on the floor. The car, however, did not want to go. Upon investigation, he decided that a push directed to the right spot was needed. But still the car did not go. Then, like all boys, little or big, he started to find out the reason by taking the little blue car apart. Before he had gone far, however, he found the trouble— a screw loose. He whistled as he set the screw aright, forgetting that Johnnie was a light sleeper. As he put the car on the floor for the last trial, a figure, clad in pajamas, appeared in the doorway. What are y a doing? ' ' Johnnie inquired as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Huh? Ah— nothing much, Tom answered, trying to hide the car with his foot. But fate intervened, and the little blue car decided to go. Clicking away, it went straight to Johnnie. Oh— (This was all that Johnnie could say.) Dropping to his knees, he picked it up, over- come with joy. Do you like it? Tom asked. But the question was not heeded, for Johnnie was completely absorbed by his little blue car. As he played, he began to wonder whose car it was, what it was doing in the kitchen, and why Tom had been playing with it. Tom seemed to read his thoughts and said : It ' s yours, Johnnie. I was going to give it to you as a Christmas present, but since this has happened, you may have it now. Come! it ' s late, and you ' ll wa nt to be up early tomorrow. That night a little boy went to bed, tired but happy, and clasping a little blue car in his hand. oppmg K. Newkert ' 35 Shopping is just another of the things that I can ' t understand. If a man wants a suit of clothes or a pair of shoes, he proceeds to pur- chase them. On the other hand, if a woman wants a dress or a coat, she goes shopping. The dictionary might give the definition of shopping as purchasing, but, to me, these two words have a vastly different meaning. If there is one thing that ruins my whole week-end, it is being told that I am going shopping with my mother. Why on earth a woman has to shop is beyond my comprehension. When she starts out she has in mind exactly what she is going to get, but she does not pro- ceed to buy it. First, she begins to window- shop. From this point on, any male knows that all hope of enjoyment has fled from his clutches. From window to window, he is led by a never tiring female. Everv once in a while she sees something that she likes, and in- vestigates it. Minutes drag into hours, and finally when the disgusted male is half-starved and literally ' out on his feet , she remembers, Oh, my coat. Then with a remarkable supply of energy, she leads him about with great haste, finally termi- nating in the purchase of a coat. Of course, she is either in too much of a hurry to try it on, and she arrives home to find out it won ' t fit, or she finds that she has changed her mind, or that it didn ' t match, or that it just somehow wasn ' t satisfactory. Then, after all her work, she sends it back with the correct size, color, and price. When her next coat arrives, she finds it somehow fits perfectly, and suits her implicitly. Why couldn ' t she have done this in the first place? What is it, if anything, that is gained by shopping? Another thing, why on earth can ' t two wo- men wear similar dresses without some show of disgust. Year in and year out men wear almost identical clothes, and don ' t seem to mind it. It seems to me that there must be something amiss in women ' s make-up that forces them to be so, as nearly as I can define it, fickle. Sk REFLECTOR ...10...

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How A Dog Celeb rated CliriStmaS Herbert Sullivan ' 35 Our scene is laid far up in Alaska. It is a cold, bleak night. Snow is falling; the wind is starting to rise; a blizzard is in the making. Far down in a valley a light gleams. Let us approach this light. As we near it, we see through the flakes of snow, fast becoming thicker, that the light is glowing through the window of a prospector ' s small cabin. Let us go up and peek in the window now. Before a fireplace with a roaring fire in it, we see two men. One is a grizzled, middle-aged man who looks as if he had seen much of the hardest side of life; the other, a young healthy looking fellow, hardly out of his teens. How they got ac- quainted is of no importance, but a brief history of both might help the story. The older man is an experienced prospector, having made and lost many fortunes. Nobody knows where he came from, but that, matters little. The young fellow is from one of the cities of the western coast. He had gone away from a home, and taken shelter with the old prospector. Now let us do a little eavesdropping and listen in on their conversation. But, perhaps before we go farther, it might be well to give names to our two unsuspecting subjects of attention. We shall know the old prospector as Dan, and the young fellow as Dick. Now let their conversation proceed. Dick is speaking. There has been a long silence. I say, Dan, do you know what night this is? Then, answering his own question, It ' s Christ- mas Eve. Waa-11, drawled Dan, after a long drag on his pipe, what of it? Days are all the same to ya after ya been living up hyar as long as I have. Oh, nothing, quickly answered Dick. Then with a bit of remorse, he added, I was only thinking of when I was a kid. That was be- fore mother and dad — Then he choked up. But did I ever tell you of the Christmas that dad struck it rich and got himself a good job? That was my first real Christmas. Then he stopped, and looked at Dan to see if there was any disapproval in his looks. Upon seeing none, he proceeded with his story. The truth is that Dan knew little of the boy ' s early life ; he had been very quiet in regard to it. Dan welcomed this story of Dick ' s. Now let us go on with Dick ' s story. Well, we had practically finished our first real Christmas dinner that we had had in years, when I went out in the kitchen to get the des- sert. As I stepped inside, I heard a soft whine at the door. I opened it. There was a small mongrel pup, bedraggled, thin, and hungy-look- ing. As we hadn ' t finished the turkey, I thought there would be no objections to my feeding the rest of it to the dog; so in he came. Did he go into that ! After he had had his fill of meat, I handed him a dish of milk. When he had come in, he could hardly stand up, but soon he looked as if he could lick anything his size. At length, instead of lying down and resting, he went over to the door, and gave a few gulps. When I opened the door, he grabbed the cuff of my pants, and tried to pull me along. I couldn ' t see anything wrong with going with him ; so, after putting on my coat and hat and telling mother and d ad I was going out, I fol- lowed along. Now we lived right next to a very poor district. To this district he led me, and right up to the door of one of the poor, broken-down hovels. I knocked at the door. My knock was answered by a little boy of about five. He had clothes on that could scarcely have kept him warm in a heated house, let alone without any warmth except for a small kitchen range. When the boy saw the dog, he went down on his knees, and put his little arms around the furry neck of the dog. He was so happy to see the pup that he scarcely noticed me. A bit later, however, he asked me in. He had little to offer, but he was glad to give me all of it for bringing back his pup. He and his mother lived there all alo ne. His mother had lost her job three weeks before and had, by now, spent all her meagre savings. Before I left, I had already planned to do something for them. Upon getting home, I told mother and dad the whole story, and they agreed to follow my suggestion. This was my plan: I would buy some clothes and toys for the little shaver, mother could buy food and clothes for his mother, and dad, who had many influential friends, would get her a job. Somewhat later, when we presented this good news to the poor couple, they both broke down and cried. All because of a smart little pup! Somehow or other, I was much more pleased with this Christmas than any other that I can REFLECTOR ... 12...