Christmas Eve Memories

When I was a little girl my family always had a fresh tree plucked from a tree lot on some corner in town. Decorated, it usually bore only fat, blue, light bulbs and was covered in bright ornaments and tinsel, placed on each branch perfectly. Our tree often was situated in the corner of the family dining room and as days of the season passed, I loved to lie on the floor and simply stare up at it for long minutes, until I had my fill of the beauty there.

Where I lived, in Elizabethtown, Kentucky, the winters were cold. We often had rain and sleet that sheeted the barren trees and made the streets treacherous. What my brother and I always wished to see, however, was snow. On most Christmases we were disappointed. The proverbial “White Christmas” was as elusive as Santa Claus. On occasion, however, Mother Nature would tease us with huge, fluffy flakes that fell haphazardly to the ground, sticking to frozen grass for a few minutes before melting and seeping into the soil below. No matter. When the snow fell, I watched in awe and I envisioned myself in a fairy wonderland where life was perfect.

Home, unfortunately, was far from ideal in those days. My father was away for months at a time in the Philippines, Cambodia, Thailand, and Vietnam, places whose names were new to me. My mother was one of the few moms in our small town who held a job, but she needed to work to make ends meet. She managed an S & H Green Stamp store, where folks could purchase myriad items with stamps they had earned when they bought gas at Texaco or groceries at the Kroger store or Piggly Wiggly. Though our mom worked hard, she always had time to hug us tightly and fill our lives with love. She was our rock, especially when our dad was away.

My parents were unable to provide us with lavish gifts for Christmas, but we always had presents under the tree, the most memorable when I was very small being a small table, tea set, and baby doll. Later, my brother and I were given new bikes, and when I was a teenager, my favorite gift was a record player. That same year my brother received a small, transistor radio. We were ecstatic! The rest of our gifts were practical: socks, underwear, robes, and slippers. Life was simpler then and we were happy.

On Christmas Eve, my mother allowed us to open one gift, only one. “Happy Christmas Eve gift,” she would say! It was a lovely tradition that intensified excitement that had been simmering for days. We were allowed a cup of cold, homemade custard and cookies cut out like reindeer, stars, or bells; or we had date bars, springerle cookies, and rich, dark fudge. When our snack was over we always prepared a plate of goodies for Santa Claus – a cookie or two, a piece of fudge, and carrots for the reindeer. Even when we knew better, the ritual continued for a good many years, just because.

Remembering now, I must admit that all in all, my childhood Christmas Eves were very special, and tonight, as I celebrate at home, miles away in California, I am touched by the memories. Putting them on paper here helps keep them alive and fills me with warmth. For that, I am grateful.

Happy Christmas Eve, everyone! I hope it is happy, healthy, and filled with love.