Christmases Past

I must admit – the older I get, the more the Christmas season seems to have lost some of its magic. Don’t get me wrong- I appreciate my many blessings. But when I was young, I just couldn’t wait for Christmas to come and I never wanted it to end. Now, as an adult I think – once you BECOME Santa, every time that cash register ca-chings, some of the magic just flies out the window. Yes, it is more blessed to give than to receive, but I sure wouldn’t mind receiving a little something once in a while just to see if I remember how.

Anyhoo- since I have an unexpected snow day today, I have decided to try and recapture some of that childhood magic by recalling a few moments from Christmases long ago.
In no particular order:

I remember going with my Daddy and brothers to our farm in the snow (which is rare here in Alabama) to cut down a Christmas tree. Hiking forever through the woods to find just the right one. (Many years later I took my husband over there with the idea of doing the same thing, but now all the trees are like 100 feet tall. I guess that was a long time ago!)

I remember Daddy nailing two pieces of wood together in an “X” shape to make a stand and then nailing it into the bottom of the trunk. (Later I learned that you can actually BUY tree stands already made! Who knew?)

I remember watching them put the lights on- BIG ole light bulbs! And helping put lots of silver icicles all over it and when it was plugged in, I had never seen anything so beautiful!

I remember my brother, Don, trying to make me get into bed by telling me he could see Santa coming down the road toward our house. Instead of jumping into bed, though, I ran to the window to try and see him myself. (I never saw anything.)

I remember using black men’s socks for stockings and wondering why Santa always had to put an apple and orange and nuts (from our tree!) in the bottom instead of just filling the whole thing w/ just candy. (That Santa was a thrifty fellow when I was growing up.)

I remember every year after opening presents, we would pack the 6 of us into the car and drive to Fort Payne to see Mamaw ‘n’ them. We would get a “poke” – (sack w/ candy in it) and exchange gifts w/ the person whose name we had drawn at Thanksgiving. Seems like there were 100 people crammed into that little house. One year my Uncle Wayne had gotten my name and he gave me the coolest gift. It was a haunted house “piggy bank”. You would put a penny on the doormat and the doors would open and a witch would come out and snatch the penny. Except I thought it was Jesus taking the money. I got a big kick that year out of asking all the aunts and uncles for a penny and having them watch while Jesus snatched it away from them!

I remember begging my daddy every year to tell us the “Santa story”. My daddy was the best storyteller. He would tell about how his father had helped rescue Santa when his sleigh had fallen into the freezing river one year when he (Daddy) was a little boy. I still wonder if it really happened. Daddy had some great stories!

I remember one year when I was old enough to “know” about Santa – my mom had been sick and my daddy was taking me to the annual Civitan Christmas party. Each year Santa would give a gift to each child at the party. By this time, I had figured out that the parents would put the gift under the tree ahead of time. I thought since my mom had been so sick, there wouldn’t be anything under the tree for me, so I tried to melt into the background during the Santa thing, so as not to embarrass my daddy when he realized he hadn’t gotten me anything. But the last little box under that tree WAS for me – an emerald birthstone ring! My daddy had remembered!

I remember one year especially. Daddy and Mom and I were in the car headed to the annual Civitan Christmas party and I was SOO excited. (we didn’t go to many parties) On our way, we passed a woman walking by the side of the road. Daddy looked at her in the rear view mirror and said “She’s crying – something’s wrong!” He backed the car up and started talking to her. Turns out her husband had just stabbed her in the hand and she was running away from him. Instead of a party that year, we took a trip to the emergency room. Mom stayed with the woman while Daddy called the police and talked to them and got her some help. Spoiled brat that I was – I was fuming the whole time about missing the party. Anyway – now I realize that he did the right thing, of course and that is one of my favorite memories of my daddy.

I remember yet another Civitan Christmas party in which I won a John Deere tractor set. Wish I still had that thing!

I remember getting a stereo when I was about 13 and thinking I had the coolest parents in the world. (It was probably the only time I ever thought that.)

I remember always having that horrible Claxton fruitcake in the house because the Civitans had to sell it every year. We always ended up with tons of it – you couldn’t give the stuff away, much less sell it! Blech!

I remember fires in the fireplace – the logs crackling and sparks flying and the smell and the warmth.

I remember Mom baking goodies and cooking ham and all the good smells.

I remember feeling safe and secure having my parents and brothers around me. I will never have that feeling again. Now I’m the grown-up and trying to provide happy memories for the kids and grandkids. I hope they have good stories to tell when I’m gone.

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