Longtime Readers may have read this before.
Christmas always has been a time for reflection of times long ago. I remember my childhood
with such fondness for the way things were growing up in the 1950s in a suburb west of Denver.
My parents were
barely out of their teens when my sister was born in 1930. Five years
later my big brother was born. My family lived in Omaha, Chicago, Ohio, Oklahoma, and Dallas during Depression and the War years - wherever my dad could find work. They made their way to Denver where I was born in 1947. My parents saved enough money to buy a house in the suburbs two years later. I grew up with kids whose families had also gone through the war years and who were experiencing the rebirth of America after the war. It was a very good time in our collective history.
I remember the cookies, fudge and
divinity my mother made - the sprinkles and gum drops and hot chocolate too. Homemade food was the norm then. The treats were good and plentiful. Christmas trees were sold by the foot. My mother bought a Christmas tree not much taller than I was and placed it on top of our coffee table to make it appear taller. There is an old photo in a box somewhere of little me looking up at
that special tree. I remember that tree so damned well because one night I pulled on an
ornament and down the tree fell. My mother screamed at wee me and I thought
bloody hell, I'm done for.
Our house was furnished with 1950's modern blond wood furniture the coffee and end tables and blond drop leaf dining set. On Christmas Eve day a few years after pulling over the tree incident I was helping my mother clean out the refrigerator to
make room for our Christmas feast. I placed every single item from the refrigerator on top of the dining room table with one leaf fully extended.
Shortly before Christmas my dad discovered a new super-concentrated liquid coffee sold in a 24 ounce tin can. The
concept was simple: add a jigger of the concentrated coffee
into a cup into hot water and whamo you have intensely rich
coffee. Back then tin cans had holes punched on tops to let the contents pour. Resealable tops
had not yet been invented. The last item I placed on the drop leaf table
was my dad's opened quart can
of concentrated liquid coffee. At first the table leaf teetered. Then
it tottered. The table tilted and fell
onto our brand new wall to wall carpet. My mother screamed the same way as she did when I pulled down the Christmas tree years earlier. Bloody hell - again! I thought
for sure I would die on this day. I raced to the phone and called my dad
begging him to come home immediately. Our uncooked Christmas dinner was all over the floor. The coffee stain remained on the dining room carpet until the day we moved away from that house.
My parents got divorced in 1959. My mother said there would be no Santa Claus that year. She said I was too big. For several years my big brother
told there was no Santa. I chose not to believe him. However, I figured out something was amok the year earlier when I went shopping on Christmas Eve day with my mother and grandmother. I found the same Ave Marie 45 RPM record in my Christmas stocking that was in the shopping cart the day earlier. I
reluctantly admitted to myself that my treacherous brother hadn't made
this stuff up. Well, he was still being mean. I figured he had missed out on Christmases growing up without the things I had. He wanted to spoil Christmas for me. Not so fast, you big dick. I'll teach
you one last trick.
So on Christmas Eve day in 1959 I went Christmas
shopping at Woolworth's where I bought some candy, small toys and a few pieces for my Lionel train set. I went back home and put candy and toys inside one of my mother's old nylon hose which I then hid in the garage.
Our house did not have a fireplace. I would always hang one of my mother's old nylons on the floor lamp in the living room and leave the front door unlocked for Santa. On Christmas Eve 1959 I made a
point of going into my mother's bedroom to get one of her old nylon stockings which I then
hung on the floor lamp. My mother said what I did and repeated that there would be no use. She knew not
of my soon to be ruse. I went to bed, my trap had been set, now it was time to take my Christmas nap. Later that night while my mother and brother were asleep, I crept through house not to making one peep. I went to the garage, grabbed the nylon hose which I then hung on the floor lamp in the living room and went back to bed.
For every Christmas morning
I could remember, I would spring from my bed by dawn's early light to
see what Santa had left me that prior night. I remember one time getting out of bed and heading into the living room. My mother's bedroom door was ajar. She yelled go back to bed!
On Christmas morning 1959 I stayed in bed until my mother and brother were up. I heard my mother ask by brother if he had filled the stocking. No
he said, had she? How could it be, did Santa exist after all? I finally
got up and headed straight to the floor lamp to retrieve my Christmas haul. Oh I got other presents but the Santa stocking was the best of all.
