Can We Talk 2

Christmas Memories

         I'm lucky to have had a close family. We were poor when I was growing up, but my parents always made Christmas seem wonderful. It wasn't until we went back to school after Christmas vacation and heard the other kids bragging about all the goodies that they got for Christmas that we began to question why we didn't get as much from Santa. My parents never quit working hard to make the holiday special for their children and grandchildren. We always welcomed others to come and share breakfast or dinner on Christmas Day. We learned to share and to make others happy even on tight budgets.

         Nobody could cook like my mother (how many people make that claim?), and I still long for her special dishes and fruitcakes. Some memories stand out, however. There was the year my mom didn't get the little sewing machine for me that she wanted. Dad bought it the day after Christmas and sneaked it to the back porch and left without us seeing him. Mom went outside for something and came back in all excited. Santa must have left something out on the porch because we got up too early. She was so happy and excited that we were, too. I still have that machine, but mostly I have the memory of her joy and desire to please me.

         There was the year my little brother, 12 years younger wrapped a present for me and hung it on the tree. He had legitimate cheap presents for my other brothers. Teasing him I pretended to be anxious about his present. I knocked it off the tree. He shook it and it made noise. He was preschool and made such an act of tears. I had broken his gift to me. On Christmas Day he insisted I open it. It turned out to be a nickel with red paint on it. He was so pleased with himself for fooling me. What an actor; he should have gone into drama when he grew up.

         I have some not so good memories, mostly with my husband, who had a miserable childhood in comparison. Before him, though, I worked in a grocery store in a busy section of town where poor and upper-class neighborhoods mixed. There was a customer on social security who lived nearby, didn't drive, and frequently came by to buy his ponies, an 8 pack of small beers. He didn't come around for a few days, and we were worried about him. The manager bought a pair of gloves and wrapped them; I made cookies and boxed them up. Our last day we had a potluck lunch and made a big platter for him. Several employees walked over to his house and took the food and gloves. They reported that he choked up and cried. He claimed no one had ever done anything like that for him. That stands out in my mind as a successful Christmas. Maybe giving is better than receiving.

         We all have a collection of memories, good and bad, that linger and form our feelings about Christmas.