I remember Christmases past. The earliest memories are of sitting under the tree, (yes I was that small), and somehow, somehow the whole tree fell over. Ornaments were made of glass then, there was no plastic and predictably, shards spread across the carpet, adults came running. I do not remember being punished or made to feel bad. Mother spoke gently to me and I felt such guilt I didn't do it again.
I remember when, around Thanksgiving time some of my dolls disappeared. I asked where they were and mother said they had all gone to the hospital. "ALL of them? At one time?" Yes, it was contagious. "Well what did they have?" Mumps. I couldn't let it go. It worried me terribly that my babies were sick and I couldn't help. Meanwhile I was banned from the basement. There were sounds coming from there all the time my father was home. On Christmas morning, when the family descended the stairs en mass there under the tree were eight cradles, with my eight babies, all wearing new outfits and one extra each.
I remember piles of presents. But going back in my mind, there was one big one, usually a doll, and lots of small things - a hairbrush, shirt, dolly bottles, coloring book. It looked like a mountain of gifts, and although it was exactly that, they were negligible items from Woolworth.
My parents never told us Santa knew we were naughty or nice and would reward us based on behavior. The thought that we could influence love and generosity by mistakes made or sins comitted was anathema to my parents. They believed that the idea of Santa was so close to a kid's view of God they never wanted us to make the jump to believing God was the stern keeper of records. In Him was light and not darkness.
And so it went.
For my own children it was the same. Piles of presents under the tree - one big one and many small, dime store items. It was all we could afford. We counted boxes to make sure each girl got the same because believe me, they counted. Each year I would start in October to sew up Barbi clothes. Buying bits and pieces of fabric for 25c gowns, leisure sets, pants suits, fur coats and business dresses would come off my machine. A card of Barbi shoes and purses would complete the gift. One year there were homemade Mickey Mouse hats. One year homemade Cabbage Patch dolls. We had so little money and did the best we could to make sure the girls never knew it.
As an adult my aging parents had little extra but they always took care of me. Every single year they got me a sweater - in size L. I've worn a 1x since I was 30 but mother simply wouldn't believe her 5 pounder was that big. Size Large it would be. They would give me my favorite pens, a hair clip, slippers, socks. David would receive a bath towel in his favorite color with his name embroidered on it. I loved it because they came from these generous, thoughtful people.
Here we are in 2012 and there's no extra money for Christmas. I have everybody's Christmas lists and wish I could tick everything off. David and I promise each other every year that we aren't going to get each other anything (yeah, right). Save the money for Brianna. I hate this. I keep searching my mind thinking where I can get extra money and where I can get knock offs inexpensively. By Christmas eve I will have earned enough from my little job, minus the bills, to provide a modest pile under the tree. I'm very proud of my daughters who have taught their children not to expect a consumer's paradise. They do not bury their children in gifts this one day a year.
But there are other memories of Christmases past. Helping my father search for the perfect tree that we could afford. He always knew 'a guy'. Throwing the tinsel on the tree, my brother would guffaw and step all over the lights, Dad and Mother retelling the stories of the ornaments as they came out of their wrappings, testing the bubble lights, placing the tin foil angel on the top of the tree, hot chocolate and homemade donuts when we were through, Dad reading Luke 2 and praying, carolers, Christmas Eve services, brother ringing sleigh bells to make me think Santa was there, having to stop on the stairs to get an 'excited' picture taken every stinkin' year instead of rushing downstairs and diving in, waiting for each other instead of thinking of our own gifts only, dinner at Granny's or Aunt Jessie's, inviting the neighbors in and us going to their homes to view the gifts.
I've never been one to burble on about 'the reason for the season!' or keeping Christ in Christmas or how much more fun it is to go to church than open presents. Seriously? But I do know there's more to the season than the height of the pile of gifts or their expense. Family, tradition, memories, warmth, the knowlege that we were never outside of our parents or our God's good graces, generosity, creativity, thoughtfulness, celebration. That's the Reason for the Season!
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