My parents were very devout and opposed to letting us believe
in Santa Claus. They made it abundantly clear that it was a religious holiday.
But we celebrated it with gusto just the same. We just knew who brought the
presents and the sacrifices they made sometimes to buy them.
We had a few Christmas ornaments used from year to year - various shaped glass balls,
celluloid figures, and some dangly "tails" of feathers in various colors, fastened
to strings with hooks on
top, that would sway gracefully with the slightest air
movement. One year I had a new kitten, a few months old at Christmas, who despite
our moving them higher and higher on the tree, "killed" all those strange elongated
birds that had invaded our house!
Daddy would always get permission from some farmer to cut down a tree, drag it through
the snow to our car and tie it precariously on top. Once fixed reasonably
straight in our living room, our only extravagance was a new package of aluminum
foil icicles, which we tried to salvage each year with limited success. I was all
for throwing them onto the tree, but was forced to put them on one at a time. I
always cheated that part, and put on three or four at a time. Mother popped lots
of popcorn, and we munched on buttered (real butter) and salted popcorn while pricking
our fingers stringing unseasoned kernels to wrap around the tree. I always was given
a couple of packs of construction paper and a pot of white paste (which I couldn't
resist tasting from time to time) to make colored paper chains, too. When Daddy
put the angel on top the tree, I knew Christmas was really in process.
In the last days of school before Christmas vacation, we always made a gift for
our parents - a plaster of Paris or clay dish, hand print, brooch or other item,
or sometimes a pot holder. We also made construction paper decorations for
the classroom, and on the last day, we got to take our own down and bring them home
to tape on windows or hang from light fixtures or doorways.
I was an only child until 8 years old when my brother was born. That made Christmas
even more delightful, to see it through his eyes. He was a very sentimental and
affectionate child and loved everything new and beautiful. For my birthday shortly
before my brother's birth, I had been given a real Betsy-Wetsy type rubber baby
doll, a financial sacrifice for my parents, but probably one that they thought would
help prepare me for the baby's arrival (as if I'd never seen a baby before!). My
poor Mother always insisted on giving me "girlie" things (like manicure sets to
get me to stop biting my nails - fat chance!) and lacy, tucked, ruffled or otherwise
decorated clothes which I messed up on tree branches, muddy banks, etc. I
never played with dolls although I had a stuffed rabbit I loved. I take that
back; I had several rag dolls and animals, and played hospital and operation on
them, sometimes with tragic and fatal outcomes. I did the same from time to time
with my new doll, who I named "David" after a wee cousin.
When my brother Nathan was a year old, my parents gave him a tiny teddy bear, which
he cuddled and slept with. But on rare occasions when I brought my doll downstairs,
his eyes would light up, and he'd reach for it and coo and beg.
My great-aunt had an enormous bag of "rags", actually new-cloth leftovers from sewing
clothing, slipcovers, etc., which she would use to hook rag rugs. I found a beautiful
piece of cinnamon-colored embossed satiny upholstery material, cut a blanket sized
square and fringed the edges, got a large shoe box, and dressing David in his best
baby clothing, complete with his little bottle, folded him into his blanket, sealed
him into the shoebox, gift-wrapped it and addressed it to my less-than-2 year old
brother Nathan. I put it under the tree the very night we finished decorating it.
This had my parents scratching their heads for days, but I refused to tell them
what it was.
I will never, never forget the look of delight on my brother's face when he opened
that present! (Nor the look on my parents' faces.....) He cradled the doll, toddled
over to his little Boston rocker, and rocked and cooed and cuddled and kissed.
This was by far his favorite gift. I still almost feel like crying sometimes
when I think of the joy I was able to give him. That was one of three of my all-time
favorite Holiday seasons in my many years of life.
top, that would sway gracefully with the slightest air
movement. One year I had a new kitten, a few months old at Christmas, who despite
our moving them higher and higher on the tree, "killed" all those strange elongated
birds that had invaded our house!
