I still get excited about Christmastime; I’m thankful it’s still got that magic feeling. It also makes me very sad on a certain level that I can’t quite put my finger on. Could be a Catholic thing. And it makes me reflective of Christmases past.
It was a mixed bag being an only child on Christmas (my sister didn’t come around ’til I was 12). All eyes in the house were on ME and even as a little kid it made me feel self-conscious. You had to put on the face of wonder and delight every time you opened a present– even when you unearthed the can of ”fancy” mixed nuts from your stocking. On the other hand, there wasn’t anyone else to cut in on the Christmas budget, so the packages under the tree were usually bounteous, and every big toy of that particular year inevitably had my name on it– Operation, Silly Putty, Battleship, Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots, GI Joe Fighter Pilot with Parachute, Buffalo Bill Scout 3030 BB gun, Flexible Flyer sled, Hot Wheels Race Track with Service Station, Barrel of Monkeys, Erector Set… I always wanted an Easy Bake Oven, but my parents insisted they were only for girls (maybe they were afraid I’d ask for Dippity-do in my stocking next). I wanted to make my own yellow cake in one of those little coaster-sized tins and smear on the frosting. Such was the deprivation of my youth.
In turn, I’d get my parents what *I* thought they should have. For Dad it was Hai Karate or a big dried salami. For Mom it was Ronco’s Veg-A-Matic or something from Avon.
I felt sorry for the kids who didn’t live in New York City during the holidays. NY was made for Christmas. Every year we’d take the train from the Bronx to Manhattan, stroll down 5th Avenue and look at the amazing windows of Macy’s and Gimbel’s, go look at The Tree and ice skate at Rockefeller Center, put money in the Salvation Army pot and listen to the bells of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The frosty air diffused the twinkling lights on the streets and buildings, making everything seem so holy and surreal. I feel sorry for my daughter who didn’t get that experience, and doesn’t care about waking up to new snow on Christmas morning.
The TV also found a prominent place in our Christmas traditions: A Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol (it seems all the best children’s Christmas specials came out of the 60′s), Miracle on 34th Street, Babes in Toyland…
We had a daschund named Mickey who had his own stocking, always found miraculously stuffed with chew bones and doggie treats Christmas morning.
The holidays in our home also included the obligatory traditional food. There was always a platter of nuts still in the shell, homemade egg nog potent with bourbon (one of my stronger memories is the smell of the chrome Waring blender’s motor after mixing a batch of the sublime concoction) and scattered bowls of hard candy that no one ate, except the fruit-filled ones. There were also thin slices of Danish ham with pickles skewered on little squares of black and pumpernickel bread, pickled herring, waxed rounds of gouda and edam cheeses, swiss cheese & wine fondue, pâtés (or just good old fashioned liverwurst), Droste chocolate apples and sprats (a type of sardine).
Between Thanksgiving and New Year’s holiday songs filled the little apartment - Dean Martin, Alvin & the Chipmunks, Robert Goulet, Brenda Lee, Burl Ives and Patti Page. Sometimes Elvis or the Ronettes.
There’s a steamer trunk full of memories of childhood Christmases. I don’t pull them out very often, but when I do I get mellow (that’s a 70′s word, kids).
Today with my new family– in which, as Everett says in “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”, I’m the damn paterfamilias!– we have new traditions. The fondue survived the generational changing of the guard, as did some of the cheeses. Miss D’s doll, Ambie, has her own stocking, and even at age 12 Miss D puts the reindeer food out on the driveway, and cookies & milk by the tree. We have a big stack of Christmas books and every night, starting December 1, we read two of them (my favorite is The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey). On Christmas Eve we all open our new Christmas jammies and on Christmas morning we search through the Christmas tree for a hidden pickle ornament (don’t ask – I don’t get it either).
I visited my old Bronx apartment building for the first time in 37 years last December. Of course I didn’t go inside, nor did I knock on the door to see who now lived there. Just stood outside and looked it over. It struck me how small the place really was – it was my world all those years ago. And I thought of the neighbors who we shared egg nog with, and all the people who came after us and had their Christmases, and begat their memories. All those steamer trunks.
I hope some of them at least got to take the train to Manhattan.
11 responses so far ↓
1 David // Dec 3, 2008 at 12:20 am
Don’t forget Miss D did get a flavor of NYC in December and at least got the store windows, lights and Central Park with her “lady coat” gloves and earmuffs…..
2 Karron // Dec 3, 2008 at 5:11 am
Smiling here David. I am listening to Bing, Frank, and Dean sing Christmas carols now.
Your childhood sounds like a Woody Allen movie without all the angst. Lovely memories.
Mine are vastly different, and most of the include memories of gigs (parents had a band all my life) on Christmas eve followed by a house full of Army guys who were single and wanted a home cooked meal on Christmas day. Christmas took place in a cabin in Oklahoma, in a flat in Germany, in Japan, once in a car as we drove from one base to another when my dad was reassigned.
Good memories and traditions still happened and are carried on in my home today. Tomorrow I will start making candy with my grandson and tell him the stories of my great grandmother as a child at Christmas.
Thanks for walking down memory lane.
3 Velska // Dec 4, 2008 at 11:53 am
I did a party-pooper post on my blog. It’s pretty square…
When I was a kid I didn’t like Christmas, there was too much pressure. Now with most of my own kids grown up I am more able to appreciate it.
4 cheryl // Dec 4, 2008 at 4:51 pm
Loved this post. I could totally imagine being in NYC during Christmastime (and I’ve never been there before!). I often wonder if I should have been born 20 years earlier because your childhood Christmas sounds like ones I remember. But not quite.
For me, Christmas isn’t Christmas without those television specials, Bing Crosby, the Carpenter’s, eggnog (minus the bourbon!), acting out the Nativity, Advent wreaths, cinnamon rolls, warm fires, oranges in the stockings, and thick snow. Now I get so much pleasure out of watching my four children leave cookies for Santa, open their gifts, laugh with joy, but especially –I love to hear them sing Christmas carols (and love those tv specials!).
5 David // Dec 4, 2008 at 5:18 pm
cheryl,
It all just wraps you in a blanket of childhood wonder, doesn’t it? I also like reading the Christmas stories out loud as a family.
6 David // Dec 4, 2008 at 5:20 pm
Velska,
Wonderful post! And, yes, I put my mind and heart on that aspect of Christmas, too. You just have to catch me in the right frame of mind. It’s hard for me not to be indulgent with all the trappings.
7 Stephen M (Ethesis) // Dec 6, 2008 at 12:40 am
We were so poor, but the season was so joyous.
Even now, I love the season much more than the gifts.
8 xoxoxoxo // Dec 7, 2008 at 12:30 am
Fabulous as always.
I think you need to buy D an Easy Bake Oven before she gets too old to think it’s cool. Just one bite of a two-bite “cake” that tastes like it has spend 14 years in a musty warehouse before being cooked by light-bulb and any regret from your childhood will fade faster than the indigestion caused by it.
It was torture as a kid to go through the pretense of being a real “cook” and then have to wait roughly a light year (OH! Pun!) for that deceptively aromatic little hockey puck to “bake”, let alone for the unit to cool enough to release the “safety lock” that kept your tasty treat hostage.
While carefully mixing the chocolate colored spackle dust frosting mix with water and spreading it carefully with the little plastic spatula, you’d wish you had NOT invited your best friend over to “share” the result because it meant each one of you was going to get roughly half a mouthful and Dad had of course been hovering hopefully during the process as well.
You’d dish out “servings” for all and lick your lips with anticipation only to remember a couple of chews later WHY you only played with the %$#@ thing once the day after you got it (December 26th). And on top of discovering you have a short term memory problem at 12 years of age, you have to wash a sink full of itty bitty dishes AGAIN….sigh…
9 queuno // Dec 7, 2008 at 4:28 am
It all just wraps you in a blanket of childhood wonder, doesn’t it?
I guess that’s why I get all tense this time of year…
10 xoxoxoxo // Dec 9, 2008 at 5:05 am
LOL queuno! One of those itchy, woolen ones too.
11 David // Dec 9, 2008 at 11:36 pm
xoxoxoxo,
Oh, D’s already baking from scratch with the real oven. Easy Bake’s days haved passed us by.
But, hey, thanks for dashing my visions of what it might have been like.
Karron,
A band! How cool is that??
Daddy sings bass, Mama sings tenor. Me and little brother will join right in there…
Hey, my dad was a butler for a while, and during the holidays Mom would help serve (with me hanging out in the pantry) when “Madam was entertaining,” so I’ve got a few unusual stories stashed away, too. They’re not always Hallmark cards, but they still leave fond imprints, don’t they?
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