My earliest Christmas memory is when I was 3, maybe 4 years old. Our old house in Grand Marsh had one small window that faced north and one large window that faced east. I remember falling asleep by the little window on Christmas Eve watching for Santa. I think I already knew there was no Santa, but I wanted to prove them wrong.
I remember getting my stuffed Belvidere. His nose lit up red when he was squeezed. There’s a picture of me standing in Poppy’s living room holding Belvidere. I think I was sick that Christmas. Well, poor Belvidere worked just fine until my brother decided to take him apart to see how he worked. I then remember his guts being on top of the refrigerator for a long time. I still have Belvidere but his guts are long gone.
I was a snooper, but Mom always seemed to know when I was in their room. I searched high and low for those hidden Christmas presents but never found them. We were convinced there was a trap door under their bed that Mom and Dad stored the gifts in. Even in 2004 when Mom and Dad moved out, my brother and I were caught stomping around on the floor where their bed had been looking for that darned trap door. See, the floor was a lil weak, so there could’ve been a door there… but the carpet was intact. Well, then Mom told us she hid our presents in the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper. Ewww! Great prank Mom! You’re right, who would think to look there?
Snooping proved to be ineffective in another way. The vent in my room looked straight down to the Christmas tree in the kitchen below. This was an ancient house, so it wasn't like a vent you’re probably thinking of. It was a hole in the floor, and then about 4 inches directly below was the screen and vent that ended up being in the kitchen ceiling. Anyways, the Christmas tree sat either in front of the chimney, or in the corner next to the bottom of the stairs. I attempted to cheat and look while Mom put the presents under the tree. Of course they were already wrapped and I wasn’t very good at it, because I think when Mom heard me move the vent she would stop. But she never told me.
One of our Christmas traditions was to drive around town and look at all the Christmas lights. We would normally do this after church on Christmas Eve. I remember even throwing a hissy fit one year when we couldn't do so. I don’t really remember any grand setups, except for the guy who lived next door to the Jehovah’s Witnesses Hall on Hwy 13. Irony. I wish I had a picture of this yard to share but digital photography had not been invented yet. He had a carousel and moving objects and lots of lights. Then there was this elderly couple who lived out on J who actually would want people to come into their home and take a tour of their decorations around and inside their home, and everyone who came in signed a guestbook. Nowadays, that would be unheard of and asking yourself to become a victim. Sad that is, especially around this time of year.
I think it was in 6th grade, we made a poetry book about Christmas. Believe it or not, I still have it. Yeah, I am somewhat of a packrat. I remember a haiku I wrote in that book about driving and looking at all the lights.
On Christmas Eve night
There are lots of bright lights.
I do drive around
To the edge of town.
And then there was the tree lighting ceremony on the Courthouse lawn, where they lit up the giant tree and had giant wrapped painted boxes under it and cookies and hot chocolate and Santa. I think sometime around my sophomore year in high school they added a Christmas parade in town prior to the ceremony. I saw it this year for the first time in quite a few years. Disappointing to say the least; the parade was over in 4 minutes, and we stood out there in the cold waiting for an hour.
But back in the day, the funnest part of the tree lighting ceremony was going to Hardee’s/Burger King afterwards and hanging out and having fun with Michele and Beth. We would stay there until they kicked us out at closing time.
And then there were the Christmas plays at church. The one where I dressed up as an angel. Another one where I was one of three kids in the family and one of my lines was to snore really loud and say “I’m sleeeeee-eeeeepinggggggg.” My now sister-in-law chickened out at the last minute. That was supposed to be her part.
I remember spending a Christmas up north in Park Falls at my grandparents’ home. I remember Grandpa telling us not to snoop under the tree to see which presents were ours. I tried telling him that wasn’t snooping. That didn’t work. Man, I miss that house. Not wanting to wash my clothes once we came home because the smell from the woodstove would remain in them for days.
And now I’m an adult. This is my 30th Christmas. There’s been several I have been unable to get gifts for anyone. That always made me feel so depressed, and there were a few years in there I could care less about Christmas and being around others, and just wishing for it to be over since I felt so guilty for not being able to give back. I also remember a couple of Christmases growing up when we only received one Avon box full of small stuff that Mom and Dad had collected throughout the year. And we were disappointed to only see one gift under the tree, but more than happy when we opened it and found several things in there.
I’m not sure when I started hating society in general, as a whole. I’m saying I LOVE being in the stores at Christmastime because of the lights, the music, all the shiny decorations, the neat-o things I can dream about doing with some outside décor if I ever get into a house ever again, but I hate the greedy people and the screaming “I want that” children and the cranky cashiers and the crowded parking lots and the cold. Brrrrrr! I guess I have a love/hate relationship with this time of year.
