Montage of Holiday Memories
To honor the spirit of the holidays, whatever holiday you observe, we, the five writers, have briefly recounted a special Christmas memory. We share them with you to evoke your own special memories. Do you have a favorite holiday story from your childhood or beyond, and would you share it with us in the comments below?
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Diane’s Memory…
For so many, the holiday season evokes nostalgic memories of Christmas past. I always return to my childhood on Christmas Eve and an event that underscores the magic of believing.
Every year, my parents hosted a family Christmas Eve party. Our home was brightly decorated with a tinsel-trimmed tree and festive decorations. My sister and I were coaxed into bed early, with the promise of a visit from Santa once we were soundly asleep. That’s when my parents got to work setting up the toys that we asked Santa to deliver under our tree.
Sometime later, we were woken up, always to the sounds of Bing and the Andrews Sisters singing Jingle Bells. Santa just left, my parents would exclaim! But we were easily distracted by the presents under the tree. One year, my dad stood by the open front door. We just missed him! I ran to look for myself, demanding all the relatives to come and see. And there we all stood, peering outside, as ten adults assured me, they saw him too! To this day, I can attest that I saw Santa and his entourage dashing across the street to our neighbor’s home.
Years later, my five-year-old daughter would also be woken up on Christmas Eve to the tune of Bing, the Andrews Sisters, and Jingle Bells. My brother-in-law, Richard, was playing Santa. In a moment of innocence, my little one confided to me that Santa wore the same cologne as Uncle Richard.
Such is the magic of Christmas, and the special memories that it evokes.
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Barb’s Memory…
In 1988, when my daughter was almost three years old, we visited my parents, her Nana and Poppy, for Christmas. Having a child around during the holidays adds a heightened anticipation and excitement for parents and grandparents during this festive time. Red and green decorations, carols, Santa Claus, the nativity scene, and iced sugar cookies – the sights, sounds, and tastes are always brighter, louder, and yummier with a little one in tow. That year in western Pennsylvania, the ground had a good dusting of snow, making Christmas Eve ever so special.
So, after setting out the traditional milk and cookies for the “big bearded guy,” we put her to bed for the night, peeking in later to make sure she was soundly asleep. Then her “Santa” (alias Poppy) set his plan in motion. With a leather strap tacked with large, beautiful-sounding sleigh bells in hand, Santa cautiously crept outside in the darkness, followed by my mom whispering, “Watch out for the holly bush; it’s prickly.” With a little slipping and sliding, he gingerly made it to my daughter’s outside bedroom window. With his hesitant, little jingling of the bells, we all waited for a stir or a peep from her. Nothing. We quietly voiced out the front door to shake it louder. Nothing. “Shake it louder,” as we got louder. Nothing. Then, a little frustrated, we muttered to tap on the window. Nothing. Then, “Give the window a good knock-knock.” Nothing. By this time, we were in hysterics, laughing out loud and running to the bathroom. She never woke up, but the adults had the best time on that Christmas Eve.
Footnote: Close to forty now, my daughter knew I would write about this Christmas memory, even though she has no recollection!
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Gloria’s Memory…
Hectic. Noisy. Warm. Bright. Fragrant. Crowded. Christmas Eve at Little Grandma’s! Each family arrives carrying bowls of heavenly fish, cooked a hundred different ways, all steaming with garlic and olive oil. Cookies, pizzelles, and biscoots are ‘hidden’ in the back bedroom. This moment alone should be my memory, but it’s not.
Invisible in the midst of all the hugs and kisses, my childish self goes searching. The tree, situated in the simple living room, is surrounded by gifts - four and five deep! Grandma’s house is the delivery spot for all the family gifts. The gift I am digging for will have the best wrapping - precise bow, wide ribbon, and never a picture of Santa on the paper. Layered between average red and green curling ribbon, I spot my treasure. Pulling it out carefully so as not to tarnish its beauty, my heart races to hold it, feel its weight, measure the creased edges. Running my fingers over ribbon flecked with gold, this is as close to sophistication that I will ever get! The paper feels smooth, thick, and rich. The corners are perfect, and the tape is really invisible. I can only imagine the time it took to wrap.
This colorful, perfect gift is from my Godmother, Auntie Louise, who is my polished aunt. I savor the moment, making sure none of my nosy cousins are watching. I feel more beautiful simply holding it in my lap. I won’t boast about receiving what is obviously the best gift because jealousy would ruin the moment. I will not open this present until tomorrow at home, under the impatient eyes of my siblings, urging me to hurry. Taking my time, careful not to tear the paper, will drive them crazy. I am certain inside will be a flawless, handmade dress. I can decipher this by the weight and size of the box. That, and the history of fancy dresses my Godmother has made each year. They are so exceptional, the prettiest clothes I own.
This perfectly wrapped gift, along with the dress sewn with love, just for me, makes this memory a favorite childhood memory.
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Gail’s Memory…
Growing up, we always celebrated Christmas together as a family. As we started to leave the nest, it wasn’t always possible to spend the holidays together. Some of us lived out of state, while others were starting families of their own and wanted to be in their own home on Christmas morning. Over forty years ago, we decided to have our extended family Christmas in early December. This way, we could all be together and still spend the actual day with our own little families. It was a perfect solution.
Because there are close to 100 of us, we typically hold our gatherings in a hotel ballroom. As part of the festivities, Mom would have a gift bag for everyone. She would make her famous fudge and puppy chow, a sweet-and-savory snack, and would add a cute coffee cup or a toy for her grandkids. One by one, we happily paraded to Grandma's chair to give her a big hug of thanks and receive our gift. We would spend the entire day dining, swimming in the indoor pool, visiting, and playing games, which included Euchre, a Michigan tradition. The grandkids had a gift exchange every year, which included loads of toys and games for them to play with while the adults chatted. The following morning, we would all get together for breakfast before going our separate ways.
However, the most important part of the day was our family auction for charity. Each year, one of my nine siblings would plan the party and choose the charity. Our auction items were often family heirlooms, homemade items, or a themed basket of goodies. Our silent auction could be competitive yet always fun. The kids loved bidding on toys and games, while the adults hovered around their favorite items, trying to get in the last bid and win the coveted prize.
Since my parents have passed, we moved our party to the summer. This way, no one had to travel in a snowstorm, college kids could attend, and the weather would be more conducive to travel. Of course, we call it a reunion now, but it's still our version of a Christmas party. The auction is the main event, and the Euchre tournaments have become more lively. Who said you had to have Christmas in December? As Tiny Tim said in a Christmas Carol, “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all year.” And we do.
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Katherine’s Memory…
The year I turned nine was a momentous one that included one of my favorite Christmas memories. That spring, my father left in the middle of the night, taking the family’s only car and available cash, never to return. I don’t remember missing my father, but I do recall that the middle-of-the-night arguments and my mother’s crying stopped. Divorce quickly followed.
Shortly after he left, my mother faced her new reality of being the sole provider for three children: four, nine, and twelve years old. She believed it was important for us to finish out the school year in our rented home, but that would take money. She hadn’t held a job since a part-time job in high school. So, she spread the word among her friends and at our church that she would clean, iron, do laundry, and/or paint walls to earn money needed for the month that was left in the school year. When school was over for the summer, we moved into a small log house just behind her mother’s home in a tiny Colorado mountain town. There, she was hired for a 40-hour-a-week job.
I didn’t know my grandmother very well and had probably seen her a handful of times before this. She was rather stern and rarely affectionate. In retrospect, I think she may have been uncomfortable around young children. That said, I knew she loved us. She cooked many meals for us and watched us after school while our mother was still at work.
That winter was our initial Christmas without our father and the first one with our grandmother. My little sister eagerly awaited the arrival of Santa. We didn’t have much money to spare, and our presents were practical ones: items of clothing, toiletry items, school supplies, a book, etc. Each stocking was filled with a new toothbrush, a few pieces of hard candy, new crayons, a small notebook, new pencils, an eraser, etc. After opening these presents, the best part was yet to come.
We walked the short distance to our grandmother’s house, where we had been invited for Christmas breakfast. Her warm home smelled of coffee and bacon. Instead of immediately sitting down to breakfast, she led us to the living room.
To our surprise and joy, Santa had left each of us another stocking! They were ordinary socks, but filled to the brim. The toe of each sock was stretched by a round orange. There were animal crackers, peanuts in their shells, and more candy. Additional practical items (mittens and more socks) were each carefully wrapped. Though modest, it was one of my best Christmases, ever! The scariness and the unknowns of what would happen after my father left, of where we were going to live, and where the money was going to come from were gone. We had a home, we had enough money, we had a loving grandmother and a mother who would take care of us.
Bit by bit, that’s all they wrote…