Each year at this time, Mom and Dad's 15 mile trip to town the day or so after Christmas comes to mind. We probably didn't go along, content to remain home on the farm with our gifts. But what they found to buy was often as big a hit as what Santa had already delivered. Along with on-sale Christmas wrap, deeply-discounted toasted marshmallow candy crusted in coconut, there were broken toys. Windup toys, lacking a wheel, or a windup key, other afflictions. But still toys in spirit. Happily, we kids had a secret weapon. Our brother Carl. If he gripped his tongue in his teeth just right, he became Mr. Fixit. A small Army-green Caterpillar, paralyzed from missing tracks? A scissors was quickly found, and one of us stander bys was sent after a worn out bicycle tube, from our basement. Snip, snip. Two black home made, wide rubber bands appeared. Stretched over the toy's wheels, who knew they were hand me downs? A twist of the wind up key, and the dozer roared into service. All of us played with Carl-resurrected toys like that, as long as we could. Woolworths, and Montgomery Wards are gone now, but hopefully a store still exists with an after-Christmas table of disabled toys, all just waiting for Dr. Carl. Was your family lucky enough to have a toy-doctor in the house?