I was ten years old — just about Ralphie’s age, in fact — when A Christmas Story was released in 1983. Every so often, a Christmas movie comes along that connects with an entire generation (sometimes more than one) and encompasses the spirit of the holidays. Previous generations had A Miracle on 34th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life, and Meet me in St. Louis. When I was little, I looked forward to watching the Rankin/Bass stop-motion specials Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, which were almost always followed by How the Grinch Stole Christmas and A Charlie Brown Christmas.

But there was something about A Christmas Story that appealed not only to children, but adults alike. Based on stories by the inimitable Jean Shepherd, A Christmas Story was a film that kids and parents could both relate to. The film has not only become a seasonal mainstay (often shown 24 hours in a row on multiple cable channels every Christmas Day), but permeated our lives. Who hasn’t uttered the phrase “you’ll shoot your eye out!” or intentionally mispronounced the word “fragilé” (at which point anyone within earshot must immediately respond with, “must be Italian.”)

And while the film is rooted in Ralphie’s desire to own a Red Ryder BB gun, there is another object that appears within the film that is so iconic and so deeply connected to A Christmas Story that the two are inseparable: Old Man Parker’s “major award,” the infamous leg lamp. The lamp, described by Ralphie as “the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window,” quickly becomes a point of contention between Ralphie’s parents in the film. Everything from the lamp’s shape to it’s eventual fate is burned into my mind.

Which is why when I learned someone was installing a 50′ tall leg lamp less than an hour away from our house, I had to go see it.

For what it’s worth, this was not our first time at visiting something related to the film. In 2013 while on our way to Niagara Falls, we stopped at the Christmas Story house in Cleveland, Ohio. This was the house used for the exterior shots in the film, although since then the interior has been retrofitted to exactly match the film as well. It’s also full of props and completely hands on, meaning kids can hide under the kitchen sink like Ralphie’s brother, use a plastic decoder to unscramble messages in the bathroom, and pose next to the Parker’s Christmas tree. Oh, and of course, they have one of “those” in the front window.

Last week over Thanksgiving, we heard that Chickasha had installed their own inflatable leg lamp at the corner of First and Main. Not only did this sound amazing, but Chickasha is a lot closer than Cleveland! Saturday morning, two days after Thanksgiving, Susan and I decided to drive out and see it for ourselves. When we arrived, this is what we found:

“Fra-gee-lay,” I said slowly, careful to use three syllables to pronounce the word.

“Must be Italian,” Susan replied.

All joking aside, we were a bit confused. I had already seen pictures of the leg lamp showering Chickasha with its soft glow of electric sex, and didn’t understand why the lamp was only now being installed. Later in the day we would learn that the custom inflatable had only been guaranteed for up to 20mph winds and had suffered a tear, forcing it to be deflated and patched. Somehow, by chance, we had stumbled on the leg’s second debut.

Approximately eight men pulled the majorly deflated award from a box truck and positioned it atop the mock shipping box. The box, we would learn, is 10′ tall; the lamp, another 40′. Standing downwind on a nearby sidewalk, we heard someone say that they had replaced a smaller blower to a larger one. As the motor fired up, ropes were attached to the lamp in various places.

In between all the brainstorming and rope tying, the men occasionally took short breaks to stare in our direction. I’m sure they hadn’t expected two spectators armed with multiple cameras to be on hand to document the event. Then again, we hadn’t planned on witnessing it.

After twenty minutes had passed, another tear was discovered in the lamp. One of the men (we weren’t sure if he drew the longest straw or the shortest one) was hoisted up atop a small forklift to patch the hole. The man’s attempt to repair the damaged lamp was more successful than Old Man Parker’s in the film.

It soon became clear that the blower would not be powerful enough to completely hoist the lamp. Tall stepladders were propped underneath to support the lamp while the forklift was again leveraged, this time to further elevate the lamp. Finally, the pre-attached ropes were used to raise the lamp.

As the anchor ropes were secured to nearby buildings, one of the men came over to talk to us. That man turned out to be Jim Cowan, the Economic Development Director for the city of Chickasha. Mr. Cowan, former general manager and owner of the Bricktown Brewery for almost two decades, informed us that the lamp is intended to be a unique landmark that drives people to Chickasha. While we spoke, Cowan pointed out several nearby businesses that had either just opened or were in the process of opening. During his time at the Brewery Cowan served as the Director of the Bricktown Association for three years, and knows a thing or two about revitalizing old sections of town.

The moment the lamp was finally vertical, Susan and I temporarily put down our phones to cheer and applaud. The men clapped as well. “It’s a major award!” I shouted, holding two thumbs up. I’m sure they’ll get tired of hearing that soon enough.

I don’t know how long they are planning to keep the leg lamp up, or how it will fare in Oklahoma’s winds. I don’t know if people will drive to Chickasha just to see it, or if they will stay for a cup of coffee or a meal.

What I do know is that there’s something magical about taking a selfie while standing in front of a 50′ tall leg lamp. I had the same gleam in my eye that Ralphie had as he ran his hand along the side of that plastic leg. The glow of electric sex is underrated.