For the first time in 30 years, Steve and I will spend Christmas Eve alone. The pajamas will remain wrapped under the tree, the games will stay on the shelf, the guest room will be vacant, and there will be no eager faces on Christmas morning or anyone to wear the Santa hat. Am I little sad? The passing of one of life’s seasons and the unfamiliar territory of the next brings sadness, some nostalgia but also hope as a new tradition begins. I remind myself there is a reason my kids are so excited about starting their own family traditions; they can’t wait to pass on the feeling of wonder they experienced as children at Christmas.
My antidote for sadness, the blues, depression, melancholy, whatever it’s called, is to go back to the beginning and remember that I have been blessed more than anyone I know. 50 years ago I had the privilege of being born into a family to whom Christmas was the “Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” My mom had the gift of making every holiday special. We celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Fourth of July, 1st day of school, Halloween, Thanksgiving, New Years’ Day, but no day contained the joy, excitement, anticipation and festive spirit like Christmas.
It would begin in mid-December with the Christmas tree. Sometimes Dad would bring one home; a few times we bundled up and trudged through the woods to cut down the perfect tree. One year an old-fashioned Christmas light scorched a pair of pajamas through the wrapped package, that was the end of real trees; we moved to an artificial tree which didn’t dampen the experience one bit. There were no expensive Radko ornaments that little fingers could damage. There were no “theme” trees with white lights and red and gold ornaments, no designer ribbons or garlands. This tree was lovingly decorated with bright multi-colored lights, a few store-bought ornaments, homemade paper chains and whatever ornament each child had made in art class at school. I hated art; I am actually artistically-challenged; I don’t even know why I brought the misshapen Christmas Star home. Mom must have thought it was the most beautiful star in the world because for at least 30 years it hung in a prominent position on the tree. Mom still probably brings it out at Christmas and tells all the neighbors that Sissy made this one.
Oh, the wonderful smells that came from the kitchen for days. There were cookies, pies, Jam Cake, fudge, and hand dipped candies. Mom always sent boxes of goodies to the neighbors, teachers, doctor or anyone else who may be in need of Christmas cheer. A steady stream of relatives dropped in for a cup of coffee, piece of pie and lively conversation. Packages began to appear under the tree and the excitement continued to grow.
Christmas Eve dawned. We would beg to open “just one” present. We knew what that one present would be, but we just couldn’t wait. Finally, mom would let us open a game just to shut us up. That kept us satisfied until evening. In the evening, the real games began, Dominos with Dad, Monopoly for hours, sometimes days, with Mike, and Candy land with the little kids. One more gift was waiting to be opened; pajamas. We all received new pajamas for the pictures on Christmas morning. Sitting around in our new pajamas, Dad would read the Christmas Story. Every year, he would pause when he came to the passage about Mary and Joseph and the Babe lying in the manger and ask why were Mary and Joseph in the manger? As a teenager, I failed to see the humor and thought it was lame. Tonight, I would trade everything under the tree to hear Dad read the story one more time. Finally, it was time for bed. We always sat out a piece of Pecan Pie and a coffee cup for Santa. Santa was sick of all the cookies and milk other kids left for him. At our house he was treated special. Amazingly, Santa’s favorites were the same as Dad’s.
Christmas morning arrived. For me it was usually about 4 a.m. I would wake Mike and we would sit and talk louder and louder to wake up the rest of the family. No one was allowed in the living room until everyone was ready. Bathroom doors would be closed harder, lights flipped on and off, coughing, giggling, anything to get Mom and Dad’s attention. Finally they would begin to stir, never later than 7:00. Mom would get the camera, Dad would give his HO HO HO and we would march down the long hallway to the tree. I realize now how hard Dad and Mom worked to make Christmas special for each of the 6 children. There was always a pile of gifts for each kid, not only things we needed, but something special we had longed for all year. One year I wanted a fur hat with fur balls at the end of the strings; there it was hanging on the tree with the other ornaments. In ninth grade I begged for a long woven cloth purse with fringe hanging from the bottom (it was the early 70’s); again, it was hanging in a special place on the tree Christmas morning.
The first few years of our marriage, Steve and I spent the night at Dad and Mom’s and continued the Hawks family traditions. As our kids came along and we moved to Michigan, we began the Niswonger family traditions, incorporating the old and the new. As I bid goodbye to what has been for 30 years, I eagerly anticipate what lies ahead for the next 30 years.
HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS.
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