Category Archives: holiday

The one thing I hope for every year is that my children are collecting cherished memories of a cozy, joyful Christmas. I hope they reach adulthood with as many fond remembrances of the most wonderful time of the year as I have.

My own memories of Christmas are warm and rich. My family consisted of my mom, my two brothers and myself, plus my grandmother who lived nearby. We lived in a 1950’s-era three bedroom ranch style house in a small suburb of Sacramento, and were not at all well off by most standards. We always had enough, and even a few treats now and then, but our car was an older model, our clothes used, our furniture well worn and our major appliances were on the cusp of becoming antiques.

Our Christmas tree was always a Douglas fir, and always from a lot. Once I was old enough I took over the task of putting on the lights, five strings of random C7 bulbs; some solid, some blinkers, some snowballs, and assorted other varieties. My brothers would put on ornaments, and my mom would put on the angel hair. She had a knack for evenly stretching the spun glass fibers all over the tree in such a thin layer that it looked as if five hundred spiders had enrobed the tree in a single silken web. The effect was amazing when the lights were on: every bulb glowed with a halo. My brothers and I weren’t allowed in the room while Mom was putting the angel hair on the tree. I found out later this was because she didn’t want me or my brothers to learn certain very special and powerful words.

We had a few records that we’d play ceaselessly throughout the weeks following Thanksgiving, several of them purchased by my parents before I was born. My favorite was of a visit with Santa himself, in which a gravelly-voiced old man and a group of child-like elves tells stories and sings songs that we can sing along with. The other records include choral arrangements of Christmas carols, a selection of music box recordings and Christmas songs performed on the “Mighty Wurlitzer” pipe organ. I still have these records and I subject my own family to them every year. To this day I will not string lights on the tree unless I have “The Voices Of Walter Schumann” playing.

My brothers and I would ask to camp out under the Christmas tree on a few nights before Christmas. It was wonderful to drift off to sleep looking up and staring at a particular light or ornament. We had a few plastic icicles that we’d hang on the tree that glowed in the dark, giving off a faint bluish radiance when the lights were turned out.

Of course, the Christmas specials on TV were a must. If you missed them, you missed them. They weren’t repeated: Rudolph, Frosty, Santa, Charlie Brown, etc. You knew they were coming, and you scheduled the rest of your life around them.

I can’t recall a single Christmas dinner that stands out, but I remember the yummy treats. My mom made the world’s best fudge. She also made a candied orange peel that my brothers just loved, and I’m pretty sure we all liked her almond brittle. We all probably gained ten pounds by the time New Year’s Day rolled around.

One particular year I’d given my older brother a box of chocolate bells, and he knew it. He loved those things so much he broke into the box a couple of weeks before Christmas and eventually ate every one of them, then told me about it and asked me to buy more to replenish it. The next year I countered by constructing a box with a false bottom, under which I’d stashed the bulk of the chocolate bells. Never had that problem again.

Christmas Eve brought with it a ritual: After dinner we’d go to the church service and then to Grandma’s house and open the presents she’d given us. It usually consisted of clothing such as pajamas or socks, but it was a present that was wrapped up and it gave me joy. Then on Christmas morning my older brother and I would get up as early as possible, as we’d be practically bursting at the seams with anticipation. The glory that was Christmas lay behind a door at the end of the hallway. Sometimes we’d open that door by the merest crack and try to get a little peek, but we knew that we had to wait for our oldest brother and our mom. The eagerness and wonder were virtually eating us up from the inside. Sometimes I’d lie half awake in my bed waiting for the others to get up, and would slip into dreaming about things I’d find in the living room.

Finally, when everyone was ready, before we could go into the living room and see what Santa might have brought, my oldest brother would hold a little “sermonette” to ensure that his little brothers didn’t lapse into the belief that Christmas was only about getting stuff. He’d read the nativity story from the Bible, and we’d say a prayer. Only then would we march into the living room to behold the splendor that was waiting for us. And even so, the splendor was, by most standards, meager.

Eventually we each grew up and went our separate ways. Gone forever were the days where together our simple family would revel in the simple joy that was Christmas morning. It was the time of life to start making new families, and new memories.

Michael and his mom are making cookies right now. She told me she is hoping to add to Michael’s memories of Christmas. Before he goes to bed, I’ll be reading Michael the story “The Night Before Christmas” by the light of the Christmas tree. This is something I’m hoping to impart to him as a nice memory.

I don’t know what childhood moments my kids will hold dear. I don’t know what particular traditions or elements of Christmastime they’ll need to have in their lives when they reach adulthood. I just hope that their memories are as precious and rich as mine are to me.

Merry Christmas!